


welcome to my cage, little lover

by KyloTrashForever



Series: ABOhHoHo [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (Kylo Is Asleep And Rey Doesn’t Protest), Alpha Kylo Ren, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alphas Are Rare, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barbarian Kylo Ren, Canon Age Difference, Conan The Barbarian Vibes, Conquerer Kylo Ren, F/M, Knotting, Kylo Is Twenty-Nine, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Late Presenter, Light Choking, Loss of Virginity, Master/Slave, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Violence, Non-Consensual Touching, Omegas are rare, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Rey is nineteen, Reylo babies, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scenting, Size Difference, Size Kink, Warlord Kylo Ren, slave rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: “Come here, Beta.”Every step is difficult— as if her legs are made of stone themselves. He motions that she sit behind him, and she remains there on her knees for several seconds as she wonders what he might want.“Your hands. Use them.”In which Rey is brought to the house of the infamous warlord, Kylo Ren, to serve his every need. Omegas are not allowed. Surely nothing will go wrong.





	1. the berth surrounding my body

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lightshinebright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightshinebright/gifts).



> Hi, guys! 
> 
> Lightshinebright gave me a perfectly reasonable prompt when she won my 1000 follower giveaway on twitter (Rey is a masseuse and Kylo comes in with lots of knots - Rey goes into heat and chaos ensues). Perfectly reasonable for a oneshot right? Nope. Not with this asshole author.
> 
> As soon as I saw the prompt _this_ scene popped into my head:  
>  (have you guys seen Queen of the Damned? You fucking should) and then my brain spiraled into a ridiculous eight chapter Conan the Barbarian-type AU and here we are. I’m sorry. This is weird. Mind the tags!
> 
> Story and chapter titles from [this vibe song](https://youtu.be/CFEBriOa1x0).
> 
>  
> 
> [welcome to my cage, little lover playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1288719735/playlist/3YonKqMc5nOGh6CQWumtzn?si=tpaVE9t-SGWcuxZg9Hkcjg)

* * *

“This is very important, girl. You _mustn’t_ look him in the eyes. Ever.”

Rey clings to the clay pitcher she’s been given just a little tighter— the oil inside sloshing just a bit with the force of her trembling.

“I need you to tell me if you understand,” the steward is saying. “I was told you can speak.”

Rey opens her mouth and manages a hoarse, “I understand.”

The man with hair like fire, blows out a sigh of relief. “Good. I would hate to lose another Beta so quickly.”

She feels cold dread like a second skin— touching every part of her and seeping deep inside.

“Just do as we told you,” the steward— Armitage, she thinks he’s called— is telling her pointedly, “and you’ll be just fine.”

Rey manages a shaky nod as he opens the door to the baths and motions her inside.

The room is thick with steam and a lingering fragrance of some floral haze. The gauzy material that is belted around her with a silk sash clings to her rapidly moistening skin— the red linen so thin she knows the dusky peaks of her nipples are on full display.

She tries her very best not to dwell on that fact.

The largest of the baths rests in the center of the room— beset in large stone tiles that continues to fill from spouts from every corner. Petals float on the steaming water, and sunlight dances over the rippling surface of the glittering pool from filtered light that drifts in from above.

She clutches the pitcher a little tighter— careful not to spill the rich oil inside.

 _He won’t hurt you,_ they assured her. _Just don’t speak unless he tells you to. Don’t look at him. Do exactly as he asks, and you will be fine._

She plays this on repeat as she moves to the center of the room on trembling legs. Her bare feet are cool against the chilled stone tiles.

She can’t help but marvel a little at the wide bath— such a luxury she’s never seen in the desert. She sets the pitcher at the edge as she falls to her knees there— unable to resist letting her fingers break the surface of the water.

_So warm._

A spare petal clings to the back of her hand, and she plucks it between her fingers as she brings it close to her nose to inhale. She has to close her eyes against the heady scent— a fragrance unlike anything she’s ever experienced.

“What are you doing?”

Hot coals rake into her belly as she scrambles away from the edge to fall prostrate on the floor. Her heart thuds against her ribs because _is this a punishable offense?_ Will she lose her life on the very first day?

Her eyes train to the ground as her hands lay flat in front of her on the stone. She feels his approach— sees his bare feet (so _large),_ and his eyes peering down on her are like a tangible weight in the way they press into her skin.

“I asked you a question, Beta.”

His voice is so low she can feel it deep inside. It settles into her chest to carve out a place there— and despite the fear that clings to her bones there is a warmth that blooms that she doesn’t understand.

She isn’t sure whether or not she is allowed to speak.

“I don’t like to repeat myself. Do not make me.”

“Forgive me, Alpha. I have never seen a bath like this before.”

There is quiet from above as he considers, and for a moment she wonders if he will simply punish her before she is allowed to finish her task.

She wonders if he will even let her leave this room.

“On with it, then.”

He turns on his heel, and she allows herself to finally look at him, lifting her head from the floor slowly.

He’s so much _larger_ than she could have imagined.

She’s heard the stories of him— there isn’t a single person from the deserts of Jakku to the towers of Coruscant that hasn’t.

_Kylo Ren._

The man who murdered his own mentor. Who in one night took control of the entire First Order. The man who holds the entire West Kingdom in the palm of his hand.

When his men had entered Plutt’s camp in search of Betas to work in his stronghold— Rey had tried to hide herself away. Better to be a scavenger than a slave, she thought.

But Plutt had other plans. She’d been bound in the back of a caravan before the sun had set.

That was four days ago.

Only four days to learn everything she _could_ and _couldn’t_ do when Kylo returned from his latest conquest.

But he’s here now.

In fact, as her eyes rove over the wide expanse of his back— the smattering of moles and the array of scars that litter his pale skin— she finds herself thinking just how very _here_ he is. She’s never seen such a large man.

_How does he remain so fair in this climate?_

He turns slowly, eyeing her still kneeling on the floor with a curious expression— and she is unable to look away. A jagged scar runs from high above one deep brown eye all the way over his cheek to tuck under his jaw.

His mouth is set in a tight line— but she’s too busy noticing the strange softness there that contradicts the hardness of everything else, to notice.

“Are you just going to remain on the floor?”

She remembers herself then, scrambling to her feet and reaching for the pitcher with shaking hands. She gives an apologetic bow of her head as she begins to pour the oil in the steaming water.

She catches his movements from the corner of her eyes— he’s removing his _skirt._ Her palms ache from the tightness of her own grip.

She tells herself not to look as he crosses the stone. As he steps into the bath— but curiosity wins out, and a flick of her eyes causes her cheeks to heat because he is _nothing_ like the men of the desert.

He slowly sinks into the water— the petals clinging to the bare skin of his chest as he eases as deep as he can go to let his arms spread out over the rim.

Then he simply watches her.

She is forced to avert her gaze.

“Save some of that oil.”

She ceases her pouring— drawing it back when there is only a small amount left— forced to glance his way again in question.

“Come here, Beta.”

Every step is difficult— as if her legs are made of stone themselves. He motions that she sit behind him, and she remains there on her knees for several seconds as she wonders what he might want.

“Your hands. Use them.”

She is confused at first as to what he could possibly mean— but after a sharp look from below and rolling of his shoulders, she realizes he wants her to touch _him._ She remembers his words about saving the oil, and she dips her hands into the pitcher to coat them with the slick liquid.

The first press of her fingertips into his skin is tentative, _soft, even—_ terror still coursing through her at being so close to _Kylo Ren._ She lets her hands wander over the wide expanse of his back that is available to her, and it is only when he quietly urges her to use more force that she allows herself to explore further.

Her hands move over his shoulders with a little more pressure— tracing unconsciously over the little nicks and jagged edges that cause her to wonder where he got them all.

He makes some noise when her palms flatten over his chest to draw back upwards with a steady rhythm— and she is assaulted then by some scent she can’t place. It tickles her nostrils in a way she’s not familiar with. Something like a spice she can’t name that is warmed by the desert sun.

It is gone just as quickly as it comes, leaving her more confused.

“You are new.”

It’s not a question she feels— so she doesn’t treat it like one.

“Yes, Alpha.”

More silence the only thing to be heard is the slight sounds of the shifting water. Sweat clings to her temples— her hair sticking to the skin there, and the rising scent of the bath threatens to leave her dizzy.

Not to mention the wide expanse of firm skin she’s currently using her hands on.

In all her life, Rey has never touched another person like this. Certainly not a man. Certainly not an _Alpha._

They are so rare, after all.

There is something about him that sets him apart from the Betas she’s known. An air of command that makes one want to follow. It is difficult to be around.

She can’t help but be a little bolder with her touches. Not in a way that begs for him to touch her in return— because such a thing is unheard of— but only in a way that she might remember it later. Her heart races as she continues to rub a slow pattern over his shoulders and down his chest. She feels that warmth again in her chest that she can’t name.

She finds up close that the scar that curls under his jaw extends lower down his chest, and she can’t help but let a finger trace it. She wonders how he got it. She wonders—

A sudden snatch of her wrist pulls her from her musings.

His hand— just as large as the rest of him— wraps around the delicate bend of her wrist so tight it is near painful. She cries out with the surprise of it. He stares at it for a very long time— as if searching for something— and Rey sucks in a shaky breath as her fear wars with that foreign warmth that blooms deep.

That scent is back.

Prickling her senses and only worsening the sheen of sweat that coats her skin. What _is_ that?

He pulls her wrist close— bringing it just under his nose. He lets it drift over her skin there, inhaling deeply with a tight expression.

“Where did you come from?”

She finds words incredibly difficult— with the way he’s touching her. “F-from the desert. Jakku.”

“A brothel?”

“What? N-no, Alpha, I—” Another sharp inhale against her skin that makes her catch her breath. “I was— I—” She chokes a little when she feels something hot and wet against her wrist that differentiates greatly from the sticky moisture that already clings to her from the steam. “ _Ah._ A scavenger. I am just a scavenger. From a southern outpost.”

She sees the way his chest rises and falls with effort. Sees how tense his jaw is. He turns to look at her— and his eyes, his _eyes—_

_Don’t look him in the eyes._

But it’s too late, because now she can’t look away.

The umber depths burn bright like amber now.  They ensnare her— _hold_ her— and she would do anything. Anything he asked. She waits for it. For his _command—_ she wants it all. She wants—

He suddenly flings her wrist away as if it’s burned him. “Get out.”

She comes to as if snapping out of a trance, blinking away her confusion and the thick sense of dizzying misdirection. “I’m sorry, I—”

His eyes snap to her face once more, still burning. “I said, get _out.”_

She feels the demand like a flood— washing over her to fill up her entire being as if she is drowning in it. She scrambles to her feet uselessly, tripping a little as she hurries from the room.

She is terrified someone will come for her, when they learn of her indiscretion. That they will take her away— or _worse._

She doesn’t slow until she is locked away in the room she shares with two other Betas, blissfully empty. She shuts the door behind her with more force than necessary— her heart still hammering in her chest and his _voice_ still nestled deep in her thoughts.

She holds out her wrist as she runs a finger there— trying to see what he saw. Feeling the warm wet of what was surely his _tongue_ as it seared into her skin.

She isn’t sure what just happened.

She’s not sure she wants to.

* * *

She doesn’t know Kaydel well, so she is nervous to reveal what happened.

No one came for her after the incident with the bath. Not until dinner— and they said nothing of what occurred. Had Kylo kept it to himself?

It is only after they’ve eaten their meal and are tucked away in their room that she works up the courage to seek help. She leaves out the more damning details— seeking only clarifying information.

“A brothel?” Kaydel frowns as if thinking. “Why do you ask?”

Rey shuffles nervously. “I heard it mentioned in passing.”

“The guards, no doubt,” Kaydel tuts. “Pigs. A brothel is where most of the Omegas end up.”

“Omegas?”

Kaydel nods. “I doubt you’ve ever come across one in Jakku. So _rare,_ now. Not as rare as Alphas, mind you, but still.”

“Why do they end up there?”

“Well, without an Alpha… there is little option for them. Now, _Alphas_ are waning by the day. Even faster, with Kylo’s crusade. It’s as if he wants to be the last one.”

Rey rubs at her wrist unconsciously. Why would Kylo think she came from a brothel?

Kaydel cocks her head when she notices Rey’s distress. “Is something wrong?”

She takes a steadying breath, terrified to reveal but not knowing what else to do. “S-Someone asked me today if I came from a brothel.”

Kaydel’s eyes widen. “But you’re a Beta!”

“I know.” Rey nods furiously. “I _know._ I didn’t understand it either.”

Kaydel looks around nervously before pulling Rey in closer. “Maybe you picked up a scent from the journey in. Have you bathed properly since coming here?”

Rey shakes her head. “With little more than cloth and bucket.”

“The bath is open for Betas after dark. Just be sure not to use the large one reserved for Kylo. Maybe a thorough wash will help rinse it away.”

Rey hadn’t considered the possibility that she might have picked up a scent by accident. As a Beta, she knows so very little of the affair of scents. She feels the knot in her chest loosen at such a reasonable explanation.

“Thank you, Kaydel. I will be sure to do that.”

“Don’t worry, Rey,” Kaydel assures. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Rey thanks her for her help, and tells herself that it _was_ just a mistake. Even as Kylo’s eyes and his voice and his _tongue_ lingers at the back of her mind.

That night, Rey scrubs more furiously than she has in her entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg like why would he be smelling a Beta * _fake gasp_ *


	2. crushing every bit of bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won’t lie, I am pretty surprised you guys like this. I thought it would be a self-indulgent AU. I love y’all. 😂
> 
> Also, look at this fucking dumbass [thing](https://twitter.com/ktf_reylo/status/1141496914250207233?s=21) I did. Someone take my phone away. 😂
> 
> Oh yeah, also I forget to tell y’all. This is alternating POV. 🙃
> 
> Oh, oh, also, also, there’s like 0.6 seconds of light choking in this chapter. It’s so brief. Like. Seriously. But you’ll see it coming if you want to flick a little further down when it creeps up. He’s a Barbarian, my dudes.

“There is a report from our spies in Geonosis that they seem to be rallying their troops.”

_Had it been floral? No. Too sweet. Perhaps the bath had polluted it._

“I think it would be wise to attack before they get the chance to rise to their full force.”

_Sweet. Almost like fruit. Dangling from a vine. Begging for him to pluck it. To taste it._

“If we wait too long— I fear their gathered allies will prove a much greater threat to our forces than disbanded as they are now.”

_The taste of her still rests against his tongue even now. Even days later. She was examined. She is surely a Beta— as all his servants are— so why does she—_

“Sir?”

Kylo realizes then that Hux has been speaking to him this entire time. He pushes the strange thoughts of the girl far from his mind.

“Tell me again.”

Hux gives him a strange look. “Did you not hear, sir?”

Kylo narrows his eyes. “I don’t need a reason. Tell me. Again.”

“Of course, sir.” Hux’s eyes are wide with fear. _Good,_ Kylo thinks. “Right away, sir.”

He launches into a recount of everything he’s just said— and Kylo tries to pay better attention this time. Even with his full attention it is hard to focus. There is just so little left to conquer. Already he controls the entire West— and the minor colonies in the South hold little interest to him.

But he is expected to continue with Snoke’s path of glory. Even if it bores him to tears.

Kylo wonders if even now, long after Snoke’s death— if his only purpose is to be the old bastard’s dog. He wonders if he will only ever be good at destroying things that other people have built.

It’s all he’s ever known. Killing. Destruction.

It’s the only purpose he’s ever had.

But he gives a curt nod, because that is what is expected of him. When Snoke met his end at the tip of Kylo’s blade— the mantle fell to him. They look to _him_ now to lead them.

He hadn’t anticipated the after, but the after found him all the same.

“Send them,” Kylo agrees. “A hundred men. No more.”

“But sir— that is far less than I feel is—”

Kylo raises his chin a fraction. “I believe I made myself clear.”

“Apologies, Supreme Leader,” Hux stammers, using a term he reserves only for when he believes Kylo to be truly angry. “I did not mean offense.”

“If a hundred of our men cannot best a band of _several_ hundred scavengers and thieves— then they don’t deserve to call themselves a part of the First Order.”

“Of course, sir,” Hux relents. “I will see that it is done.”

“Good.” Kylo moves to stand— rolling his shoulders and adjusting his tunic as he fights that strange itch in his skin that has not let him rest for days. “Instruct my personal guard to meet me at the training grounds.”

“Sparring, sir?” Kylo nods, and Hux looks wary. “How many men should I send down?”

Kylo takes note again of the restless energy coursing just beneath his skin, his fingers itching to break something as he turns away to leave Hux behind. “All of them.”

* * *

The blood at his knuckles is like coming home.

Here, like this, his demons don’t own him. Here, he owns _them._ The guard has long since had enough— but Kylo keeps fighting. Keeps _pushing._

Another lies broken on the dirt floor; Kylo isn’t even sure if the man still breathes. This one is not far off from the same fate.

Every sickening _crack_ of bone and _squelch_ of blood is like a lullaby. Soothing the anger inside him. Forcing everything to make _sense._

He doesn’t remember a time when he wasn’t so angry.

The last that still stands is limp now— Kylo’s arm wrapped around his neck like a vice, like a _noose._ The man’s skin grows mottled and dark and his eyes bulge, and the _sounds_ he makes are horrifying, but there is nothing but a roaring in Kylo’s ears and a voice deep inside that begs for _more._

He hardly registers the way the man struggles— barely notices the frantic shifting and the helpless gasps. Kylo stares up into the sun and wonders why he needs this. Wonders why the blood on his hands makes everything quiet.

It is only when he decides the guard has had enough— Kylo deciding to put him out of his misery— that he lets his gaze wander from the sky.

That’s when he spots her.

She’s frozen between the stone columns just under the terrace— eyes wide and so _frightened._ Of him, he realizes. She’s frightened of him.

Why shouldn’t she be?

He _wants_ her to be.

He stares back— never letting up his grip. Feeling the way the guard begins to go limp. Seconds more and he will—

Then she turns. She walks away. _Runs_ is more like it.

She leaves something behind on the wind. Something sweet. It tickles at his nostrils, and suddenly there is no man in his arms and no blood on his hands there is only the blood _inside him_ and it is _rushing_ and he is stomping through the courtyard as fast as he can manage as he chases after her.

He is nearly down the hall he’d seen her duck into before he catches himself.

What is he doing?

Trailing after a Beta servant like a whipped dog? No better than what Snoke believed him to be. And for what?

_Her?_

He feels hot rage course inside him. Only worsened because he can still catch that damned _scent._

_Where does it come from?_

It takes all he has— to turn in the opposite direction. His body screams at him to _hunt her down_ , to _take_ her— but he forces himself to go the other way. To make the slow trek back to the training grounds where his last opponent has been dragged from the ring and carried off to presumably be tended to.

That too, fills him with anger.

He lets out a snarl that he can’t sort out the cause of— and then he is grinding out a command that more men be brought to him.

He barely sees their faces.

He doesn’t leave the ring for the rest of the day.

* * *

Kylo slams the tankard on the table forcefully. “More.”

Poe eyes him cautiously from across the table, dutifully saying little. Seeming to sense Kylo’s mood.

Until, as per usual, Poe can no longer keep his mouth shut. “Are you trying to get stone-cold drunk?”

Kylo shoots him a glare, saying nothing and taking another long draft from his tankard.

“I’m only saying,” Poe blazes on. “If that is your goal we have better ale than that horse piss.”

Kylo slams down the cup with more force than necessary. “Tell me why I tolerate you.”

“Life debt comes to mind,” Poe murmurs amusedly.

Kylo scoffs. “I would have been fine.”

“And yet you tolerate me.”

He scowls into his cup, knowing Poe is right. Were it not for him— the night Snoke fell could have gone very differently.

“My patience will run out one day.”

“Yes, yes, and you will grind my bones to dust. Fee, fi, fo, fum, and what have you.” Poe takes a slow sip from his own tankard before grimacing from the lesser quality ale. Kylo doesn’t mind it. It’s far stronger than the one Poe prefers. “Now tell me, what word from Geonosis?”

Kylo shrugs. “I sent a hundred men.”

“Only a _hundred?_ Perhaps you should have just kicked a stone at their gates. A spare arrow at their tallest tower.” Poe snorts with distaste, muttering, “A _hundred_ men. My word.”

“I would bet a hundred of my men against a thousand of theirs.”

“That’s because you’re arrogant.”

“It’s because I trained them myself.”

“Well, I suppose there is that.” Poe looks thoughtful then. “Is this what you really want? To carry on the old bastard’s legacy? Conquering every kingdom there is until there is nothing left?”

“What more is there? There’s nothing else in this God-forsaken wasteland. Nothing but blood and death.”

Poe frowns. He always seems to think there’s more to Kylo. More than this monster Snoke made him. “Do you really believe that?”

Kylo stares into his cup— considering for only a moment before shaking his head. He takes a heavy swig. “I have to.”

Poe sighs. “Well, let us pray you didn’t create a hundred widows with this excellent display of bravado.” Kylo doesn’t hide his sneer, and Poe simply chortles. “Oh, I forgot. Kylo Ren is above the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Leave it alone, Poe.”

“I’m just saying— it _is_ completely strange that the infamous  _Kylo Ren_ suddenly stopped taking anyone to his bed out of some strange onslaught of what— _principles_? How long has it been, anyway?”

“Poe.” It’s a warning— but one Poe doesn’t seem to grasp.

“There are many fine brothels right here in—”

Kylo’s hand against the table is sudden and _so loud._ “ _No.”_

His other hand that clutches his tankard is shaking with the force of his grip— wrought with memories he can’t seem to shake. He’s tried so many times. To let the past die. To _kill_ it, if he has to— but to no avail. They are there waiting when he closes his eyes.

Poe seems to remember himself.

“Forgive me,” he says earnestly. “I forget. About Leia.”

Kylo takes a long swig as the room begins to blur slightly. He sets it down with a quiet anger that he knows is even deadlier than his more brash ire. “Don’t say her name.”

“I’m sorry,” Poe offers, his voice growing softer. “It doesn’t have to be an Omega, friend. I know how you feel about them. There are a number of lovely Beta servants right here in the stronghold that would _fight_ to visit your bed.”

Suddenly his mind is filled with _her._ Would she come to his bed, he wonders? Why can’t he stop _thinking_ about her? Not an Omega, but exerting some hold over him all the same.

_Weak. Just like your father._

Hot anger licks up Kylo’s spine. He needs to leave this room— before he kills the only man he almost considers a friend.

He shoves away from the table forcefully— finishing his tankard and then reaching for the jug to polish that off too. He stumbles only a little when he tucks the jug under his arm instead— ignoring Poe’s offers of aid and retreating from the room to put distance between them.

To try and forget.

It never works.

* * *

He doesn’t know how long he wanders around his own stronghold. He hardly even knows where he’s going. He seems to be following some intoxicated instinct— or perhaps he is merely lost. He prefers the former possibility.

The jug is long empty, discarded somewhere along the way, and the room spins _fully_ now. It is nearly a chore to remain upright.

He uses a palm against the stone walls to keep himself grounded— smoothing along the narrow hall in search of something. Maybe. He isn’t sure. He has finally reached a place where his mind is quiet. There is little more than darkness there. Adequately numbed.

He isn’t sure when he first notices it.

Surely it is impressive in its own right that he notices it at _all_ in his current state— but it’s there. Brushing along his senses. Crying out for him to _taste._

This part he remembers.

It’s close— this siren’s song. It pulls him along of its own accord, and he is helpless to fight it. So _sweet—_ unlike anything he’s ever known. Anything he ever _will_ know, he fears, and in his sodden state he is little more than a ship lost at sea— following the strange beacon at the shore.

He finds her alone.

She startles when he enters the room, _crashes_ more like— and her eyes hold that same terrified expression. He glances around the four walls trying to determine where they are— but the world is so blurred that she is the only thing he can make out.

“A-Alpha?”

A shiver runs down his spine. Why does it affect him so? So many call him that. None of them make him nearly weak with it. Not like her. It would make him angry were he capable of such an emotion in his inebriated state.

He’s still frustrated with not knowing where they are, and he manages a slurred, “Can you see my surroundings?” She doesn’t answer. Just sits there open-mouthed— and Gods, her _mouth—_ so he barrels on. “I can’t see yours.” His eyes find her then— raking over the thin red fabric that hardly conceals her breasts and makes some heat stir inside him. “Just you.”

He takes a step towards her— and she backs against the wall just a little closer in a way that she might protect herself. He doesn’t want to hurt her. At least, he thinks he doesn’t. He isn’t quite sure _what_ he wants to do with her.

He just knows he’d like to touch her again.

There is no more space to cross, and there is no further for her to flee. He’s simply _there,_ towering over her. She’s so _small._ He could do whatever he likes to her. She wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.

He can’t stop looking at her.

That damned _scent._

It’s possibly making him drunker than the ale.

His hand is slow as it crosses the fraction of space still left between them— and he watches her for some kind of reaction. For her to tell him _no._ Maybe that would bring him to his senses. Maybe he would destroy her, too.

She does nothing.

She simply watches his hand as it flattens over her tiny frame, covering her belly to find a heat there that he knows too well. For a moment he just stares at his spread fingers— marveling in the way that they cover the entire expanse of her belly.

He hears her breath catch, but she’s still so very _quiet_. Is it fear that keeps her silent, or is it possibly something _else?_

He lets his hand slide higher— between her breasts and up her throat, and he settles there to apply a light pressure. Yet, still she makes no sound. She just _looks_ at him with those eyes of hers that have haunted his sleep.

The anger _does_ flare then. Who does she think she _is?_

He squeezes a little tighter around her throat— and she makes some whimpering sound that he feels deep inside. It immediately makes his grip slacken considerably.

Why does it feel as if he might give this creature everything?

Why does it feel like he might _want_ to?

He can practically see her pulse against her neck, and he can’t stop staring at it. Can’t stop breathing in that strange sweetness that makes his mouth water and his blood sing, and he’s leaning in before he even realizes. Closing his eyes to press his lips there and swiping his tongue to try and drink it in.

He thinks she will say something now. That she will fight him.

 _Fight me,_ he begs deep inside. _Stop this. Stop this, because I don’t think I can._

 _“Alpha,”_ she sighs instead, small hands resting against his chest, and Kylo loses what little sense he has left.

He sucks at her pulse point greedily now— her flavor coating his tongue and turning him into little more than an _animal_ as he pins his hips to hers. As he holds her in place with only his pelvis and his hand at her throat.

He thinks he feels little fingers touching his sides. Thinks he feels them curl to cling to his skin. It drives him _mad._

He could have her like this. It would be so very easy. She would give him everything— right here on the stone floor.

So easy, so very _easy—_

The last thing he remembers before everything goes dark is a sweetness at his tongue and a breathy sigh at his ear.

Then there is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cockblocking myself. How on brand.
> 
> Also, I think I write Poe/Ben friendships now just to tease the Preylo gremlins. 😘


	3. the sweet surrender of silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It made me laugh a few people thought Rey clubbed him. Maybe she should have, but the big dumb brute just passed out. 😂

Her heart pounds against her chest so violently it is nearly painful.

She can still feel his breath at her ear— his tongue, his _teeth—_ still feel the hard press of something _else_ at her thigh that both terrifies and thrills her. She can still feel all of it, even if he’s no longer pressed against her.

Even if he’s slumped on the floor.

She can smell the ale on his breath, strong and almost covering the scent of _him._

Almost.

She suspects the lingering scent of heat and spice will still cling to her skin long into tomorrow.

Now, she has no idea what to do with him.

Should she let him lie here? Retreat to her room in the hopes that he won’t remember this tomorrow?

 _She_ will surely remember. _She_ will most likely never forget.

She hadn’t even done a thing to stop it. Hadn’t protested in the slightest. Even with the tangible fear that had crept through her veins, even with his hand at her throat and a flash of rage in his eyes— she had given him everything.

She suspects she would give him even more— and it terrifies her.

Again she considers leaving him here on the floor, but something inside her keeps her here. Something that shouts at her in warning.

What if someone else finds him here? Someone who might wish him _harm._

Why does that _terrify_ her even more than he does?

She knows she can’t leave him.

She tugs at his arm, futilely, as he is so much _larger_ than she— using the entirety of her upper body strength in an attempt to roll him. Must he be so _large?_

“Ren?”

A voice outside makes her jolt. It’s fairly close. A man she doesn’t recognize— but then again, there aren’t many men here she _does_ recognize.

She feels dread— Kaydel’s warnings of not being caught alone with the guards making her wary. She frantically glances around the room for some means of escape, but the window in the storeroom is nearly a hundred feet high. She’d never survive a fall from this height.

She has no choice but to face whoever is approaching.

She spots a dagger at Kylo’s hip— and she scrambles across the stone to unsheathe it, holding it out in front of her with trembling hands as the door to the storeroom pushes open.

A man nearly her own height lets his gaze sweep around the room with a look that is first puzzled, but then quickly turns to full-blown confusion when he spots both Kylo on the floor and her clutching at his dagger.

His mouth falls open, stunned momentarily, and then he looks nearly angry. “ _Did you kill him?”_

“N-no,” Rey manages, still clutching the knife even as the man takes a menacing step forward. “He passed out.”

The man’s brow furrows, looking again between her and Kylo on the floor— and then he bursts out laughing so suddenly it makes Rey jump.

He wipes at his eye seconds later, taking in Rey’s rumpled clothing and eyeing her throat which is probably red from his teeth. “Did he hurt you?”

Rey gives a wobbly shake of her head. “No.”

“I’ll be damned,” the man chuckles. “I suppose celibacy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He stares down at Kylo’s now snoring form. “Supreme Leader.” He scoffs before peering over at Rey. “Think you can stow that blade and help me hoist him up? He’s very heavy.”

Rey remains wary, only lowering the blade a fraction.

“My name is Poe. I’m _his—”_ He gestures to the ground. “—second in command. I won’t hurt you,” he assures. “I swear it.”

Rey lowers the knife carefully— eyeing Poe’s outstretched hand and placing it there at an even slower pace. Poe drops to haunches and tucks the knife back into Kylo’s sheath before gesturing down at his sleeping form. “Grab an arm.”

She reaches to try and tug at one of his massive arms— his dead weight barely budging, and Poe has to grunt as he puts a little more effort into their task.

The pair of them are nearly sweating when they finally get him into some semblance of a standing position— balancing him between them as Kylo mutters something unintelligible in his sleep.

“His chambers are up another flight of stairs,” Poe sighs. “I hope you’re stronger than you look.”

Rey nods resolutely. “I am.”

“Good,” Poe grins. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to get Kylo up the stairs.

Poe makes idle talk with her— her duties, where she comes from, finally wandering towards the topic of how he found her and Kylo alone.

“Did he say anything? Or did he simply maul you?”

Rey swallows. “He didn’t say much.”

“It’s strange,” Poe mutters.

“What is?”

“That he would touch you at all.”

Rey thinks for a moment that he is being unkind to her personally, and she can’t help but scowl.

Poe notices and shakes his head. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a lovely girl. It’s just— Kylo… isn’t interested in that. Hasn’t been for a very long time.”

She can’t help herself. “Why not?”

“I don’t think that’s for me to say.” Poe looks pensive for a moment. “How much do you know about his late mentor?”

“Only that he was a monster.”

Poe raises an eyebrow. “Most would say that Kylo is a monster as well.”

“And what do you say?”

Poe stares ahead, thinking. “I think… he is what his master made him. But I’m not sure he wants to be.”

“You really believe that?”

“Who knows. Bloodshed is _all_ he knows. Snoke made sure of that.”

“What a terrible life,” Rey remarks.

She doesn’t miss the way Poe raises an eyebrow at her. “Heavy words, coming from a slave.”

“Yes,” Rey manages through gritted teeth. “I suppose that’s fair.” She ponders for a moment, her expression softening. “Still. No one has hurt me here. I’d heard stories of the cruelty of Kylo Ren. So far, I’ve found the desert to be much crueler.”

Poe is quiet for several moments before finally inquiring, “I haven’t caught your name.”

“It’s Rey.”

“Rey,” he tests. “Interesting. I think I like you, Rey. Let’s be friends.”

Friends. What a strange concept. Still, he’s the friendliest person she’s met save for Kaydel— and it couldn’t hurt to have an ally.

“Ah,” he says, pulling her from her thoughts, “here we are.”

A wide door greets them at the end of the hall, and Poe shuffles around until he’s able to push through. It’s difficult— maneuvering through Kylo’s bedroom with the giant in question still out like a light— but after a time they manage to drag him along to his bed and hoist him over the top. They situate him on his stomach— standing back to admire their handiwork as Kylo continues to snore softly.

“He’ll be right as rain and back to his intolerable self by morning,” Poe remarks.

Rey nods. “I will return to the Beta quarters then if you have no more use for me.”

She turns to go, but Poe’s hand flies out to grip her wrist, stopping her. “Actually… I think you should stay.”

“What?” Her eyes go wide. “I couldn’t possibly— I should—”

There is a strange glint in Poe’s eye. Is he _trying_ to get her killed? “He could wake in the night and hurt himself. You are here to serve him, are you not?”

Her jaw works as she glances frantically between Poe’s coy grin and Kylo’s sleeping form. “I don’t think he would want—”

“He’ll be fine. As his second, I think I will have to insist you stay.”

She knows she can’t refute this. Knows she has no power in this situation. She does the only thing she can do— offering a weak nod. “Fine.”

“Excellent.” Poe releases her wrist with a wide grin. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he won’t harm you.” His face falters before he casts a wary glance towards the bed. “At least I think he won’t.”

“And if you’re _wrong?”_

“I will owe you a massive apology,” he admits. “If you’re still around.”

She is beginning to think that Poe is mad. He’s so _nonchalant_ about her life. He offers hardly anything else before he leaves her alone with the snoozing Alpha— and she watches him go with a pounding heart.

_Friends. Right._

She’s almost afraid to look back at the bed.

She can’t possibly _stay_ here.

But if she leaves now— there is a possibility that Poe will discover her. He seems of mild temperament, but to actively _disobey…_

She swallows thickly, knowing that isn’t an option.

 _It’s fine,_ she tells herself. _Just stay until daybreak, and then you can sneak away before either of them are aware of it._

Kylo stirs behind her— moaning softly in sleep as if his dreams torment him. She wonders, despite everything, what haunts him so.

She takes a few tentative steps towards the bed— leaning over his massive frame and straining to make out some of his muttered words. She catches barely-there utterances that hardly make sense— but nothing to give her any insight into his dreams.

She grabs a thicker covering that has been tossed haphazardly over a chair, tossing it over him even as he doesn’t move an inch. She sits gingerly at the opposite side of the bed— brushing a thick lock of dark hair from his eyes. He seems so much _younger_ in sleep. If it weren’t for the row of glinting metal studs that trail up his ears (even _these_ are somewhat larger than the average man), or the thick scar over his eye— she could almost imagine he was not so much older than she.

Rey wonders if there was ever a time that he wasn’t so savage. She can hardly imagine it with everything she knows about him. Perhaps he has simply always been this way.

She catches sight of a mark at his shoulder— a crude brand of seared skin that she has seen etched on the walls of the larger rooms of the stronghold. The symbol of the First Order. She wonders how she hadn’t noticed that first day— but then realizes she’d been rather… distracted.

She gently lets a thumb brush over the taut skin, noticing just how stretched and tight it is. As if he’d gained this mark when he was much smaller. How young had he been when he’d come to Snoke— a child?

There is a strange tug at her heart— a ridiculous thing really, to feel pity for a brute like him. He surely wouldn’t want it.

Still. It’s there. Like a grain of sand that has wedged its way under a fingernail, impossible to ignore.

She quietly falls to her side— watching him in sleep and telling herself that it is only for a moment. The strange fragrance that he normally exudes is dull now, and she takes advantage of his quiet state to really study him. Like this, he looks like a normal man.

She can’t help but remember the way he’d been before he’d passed out— her mind drifting to his lips and tongue as an involuntary shiver passes through her. Why _hadn’t_ she fought him?

He’s an evil man— nothing more than a master to a slave and yet— he calls to something inside her. Something she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know where it comes from, or even how long it has resided inside her (perhaps it has _always_ been there)— but now it is awake.

It terrifies her, this power he holds over her.

It would be most prudent to do her very best to avoid him altogether. To ensure they never cross paths. It is such a large stronghold— surely she can make herself scarce. Find a job in the kitchens— somewhere she will not have to wander about as often.

Yes, that would be best.

She is so lost in thought she doesn’t notice the way her eyes grow heavy, or the way her limbs grow slack.

 _Just for a little while,_ she thinks. _Then I can escape._

_Just a little while…_

* * *

It’s daylight when she wakes.

It peeks through gauzy curtains and shines down on her— making her all too-aware of the way she is curled in Kylo’s bed.

But this is the least of her problems.

Thick arms are wrapped around her— pulling her flush against an even larger body as soft lips mouth lazily at her throat. She holds her breath, unsure as to what is happening. Surely he isn’t still _drunk?_

Her skin is too warm— or perhaps it is just him? She feels a strange prickling over her body that seems to grow stronger at random points. Over her throat, her wrists— impossible to ignore even with the too-large body that is pressed against her. His heat seeps into her to burrow deep, and she feels it straight down to her core in a way that leaves her confused. She feels so _strange._

She nearly cries out when she feels a thick length press against her backside— warm and _rigid_ as he ruts slowly against her. He makes some soft sound as a hand curls around her hip— so quiet and languid she knows then that he still sleeps.

He doesn’t yet know that she’s here.

His hand however— seems to have a mind of its own. It wanders up her belly and over her ribs and the way he _squeezes_ when he finds her nipple through the thin linen that covers her breasts—

She has to bite her lip to hold back her gasp.

But he’s still _moving._

His hand travels lower from where it came, and even in sleep he is hardly gentle as he cups between her legs. She feels a strange wetness there she’s never felt, and his strange scent is so _thick_ now, and she’s so _dizzy_ with it—

She can’t contain her cry when she feels a thick finger part her folds even through the thin layers of fabric below. It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it.

She instantly realizes this is a mistake.

Because he goes rigid behind her. His hand at her hip flexes— as if testing. As if ensuring that _yes,_ he is awake. She hears the heavy drag of his breath, and she tries her best to remain still. To not alarm him further.

His warmth leaves her back in an instant— and what happens next is so quick she can’t even defend against it. There is a flash of his hand at the sheath still wrapped around his waist, and then with a glint of steel he is straddled over her— pinning her to the mattress as his blade presses against her throat.

She can see him trying to make sense of it. Her being here. Him touching her. His eyes are dark and wide and _so hard_ as he peers back at her. Even as the blade rests against her throat. She feels the bite of it, feels how easily he could end her life, and she can’t help the whimper that escapes her.

His expression is wild— and she sees none of the young man she watched in sleep the night prior. In his place is the angry man she still doesn’t know, and she must admit that this Kylo— he _terrifies her._

His nostrils flare, and the voice that escapes him is so low she can almost feel it touch her skin as she shudders against it.

_“What are you doing here?”_

Rey can hardly breathe. She opens her mouth to answer— but no words come out. She has felt fear in the presence of Kylo Ren since she arrived here, but it is only now, _right_ _now—_ that she feels _truly_ afraid for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there’s probably some deep-seated psychological reason why it makes me randy that he would hold a knife to her throat. Maybe it’s because I know he won’t hurt her? Let’s go with that. 😐


	4. still don’t know your name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this might not go completely like you expected because Kylo has some fucking issues, but... that’s not to say we aren’t on the smutty side of this story now. 😬

For a moment he thinks perhaps he’d dreamed her into existence.

In his dreams she’d been under him— not beside. He can still see the way her body moved under his. Still hear her sharp cries for _more._ His skin burns with the heat of her, even now.

_They will make you weak._

He hates the way even now he can still hear _his_ voice clear as day.

_Weak like your parents._

The rage creeps inside then— warming his skin for another reason.

_“What are you doing here?”_

She keeps still underneath him as her lip trembles. So _afraid_ of him.

 _Good,_ something inside him cries as another quieter voice begs, _please don’t be._

But his blade is at her throat without him even being entirely certain how it got there. As if driven by some second nature beyond his control. He keeps his grip tight.

Her mouth opens to speak but the words don’t come. He grits his teeth. “I asked you a _question._ Did someone send you? Is that why we keep meeting? Do you have some sort of _agenda_ here?”

“You found _me,”_ she whimpers weakly.

There are flashes of memory. Of his tongue at her throat and how she’d _tasted—_ then it all comes back. Drinking. Stumbling. _Her._

None of it explains why she is in his _bed._

Her throat bobs against his knife, and his eyes are drawn there, distracted not by the blade but by the long expanse of tanned skin. By the spike of some sweet scent he now recognizes as citrus and honey that he wishes he didn’t know the taste of.

It might make being so close to her less painful.

“Tell me why you’re here.” It’s a demand, but his voice lacks the conviction from before. He has to concentrate to keep his dagger pressed at her throat.

“Y-you passed out. After— after you—”

“You carried me here _alone?”_

“No,” she manages even as her voice goes tighter with fear. “Your second. Poe— he found us and he—”

His eyes narrow. _Poe._ He should have known he had something to do with this. Always _meddling_.

Kylo stares down at her for a very long time. “You could have killed me,” he says finally, quieter than before. “You could have _escaped.”_

“Yes.”

It’s her only word— but it speaks _volumes._

He can only manage a strained, “ _Why_?”

Her eyes flick to his mouth, her eyes going a shade darker, her tongue peeking out to wet her own lips. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t notice when his grip goes slack. It doesn’t register until she’s rising just a fraction— his blade ghosting down her sternum as he is left mesmerized by her intent. She looks transfixed— just as much of a prisoner to _this_ as he is. He knows what she wants— can see it in her eyes and her mouth and the _scent_ of her in his nostrils and she—

It’s soft.

So much softer than anything he’s ever experienced.

Just a chaste press of skin to skin that tastes of warmth and light and _her._ His eyes close of their own accord, and for a moment he forgets to breathe.

He’s still hard against her, and the shifting of his hips is involuntary. His cock slides against the softness of her exposed thigh— her dress shifted in their tussle and for a moment he imagines tearing it off to press inside her. He tilts his hips harder— rucking up the leather of his skirt he’d fallen asleep in.

He moans into her mouth as the warmth of her skin touches his heated cock, and he could do it. She wasn’t made to take his knot— but he is wrought with the urge to give it to her all the same. Even if it breaks her— even if he—

_They’re dead because of you._

_You’re no better than your father._

He wrenches away from her in one swift movement, scrambling away to the edge of the bed and bracing himself like some sort of wild animal.

In this moment he feels like one.

His heart races with some need he doesn’t understand. He’s never wanted something in his entire life more than he wants _her_ in this moment. This creature who is _nothing—_ she is _nothing—_

_But not to me._

This voice doesn’t belong to Snoke— he isn’t even sure it belongs to _him._ It’s too soft. Too foreign.

She puts distance between them as she wraps her arms around herself in a defensive gesture— and he grabs at the thread of anger that is always lurking beneath, tugging at it so he can feel _normal_ again.

“Go,” he urges lowly. “Get out of here.”

She doesn’t hesitate. She runs from the room as if she’d been poised too. As if it’s all she’d thought about.

 _Yes_ , he thinks. _This is right. This is how it should be._

Then why does he feel the sick urge to go after her?

He makes some snarled cry as he reaches for the water basin at his bedside— turning to hurl it at the wall and watching it shatter into an array of smaller pieces.

He stares at his hand after, remembering the way he’d woken with it between her legs. It’s like an instinct, something beyond his control, the way he brings his fingers to his mouth. The way he licks at the pads of them to taste the dwindling scent of her there.

His body shudders, and his eyes roll back, and he is afraid _—_ afraid that he _is_ weak. Because he knows he wants to go after her.

Because he knows that it’s only a matter of time before he does.

* * *

He manages to keep his distance the entire day.

His skin feels like it’s trying to leave his body— but it’s completely fine. He busies himself with other things. Tries to keep himself occupied. Anything he can do to forget how she felt underneath him.

He’s doing all right. Mostly.

Hux is informing him of some ongoing situation to the East of the stronghold. Some small company that marches towards the keep.

Kylo isn’t particularly worried. Their walls are high, and their men are plenty.

Let them come.

“Perhaps if we sent a regiment into the field we could—”

“No.”

“No?”

Kylo nods. “It’s not necessary.”

“Sir, with all due respect, our reports show that if we don’t intervene they will reach our walls in a matter of _days_.

He’s growing bored with Hux’s blatant ignorance to read the room. “Good.” _The perfect distraction._ He stands from the table. “Ring the bells when they arrive. I’ll lead the charge myself.”

Hux looks as if he would like to say more— but for once is dutifully silent. He gives a tight nod before Kylo turns away.

He is still restless as he leaves the room. Still struck with a simmering urge to be _near_ her. He just wants to make _sense_ of it.

He moves down the stone hall— making for the inner courtyard in search of fresh air. Needing to find a place to clear his head.

But fate is a fickle thing, because he hasn’t yet made it halfway down the hall when he catches a light air of a saccharine scent that renders him still.

His spine goes rigid as he considers sprinting in the other direction.

 _Like a coward,_ he realizes.

Is that what she’s reduced him to?

That he might be left small and _afraid_ of a tiny scrap of a Beta that he could _tear apart_ if he wanted to?

He will have none of it.

His steps have purpose now. He marches down the hall with barely-checked frustration as he goes off in search of her.

He tells himself it is to confront her. To demand what she’s done to him.

 _Yes,_ he thinks. _This is all he wants. Nothing more._

He almost believes it.

He is just nearing the wide opening that spills out into the moonlit courtyard when he hears them— muffled voices that he recognizes, and he lingers just inside the entry so that he might listen.

“You were hardly in any danger.”

_Poe. This is Poe._

“He almost _killed_ me.”

_And that is—_

He frowns, realizing he doesn’t even know her name. Why are they out here alone?

“And yet here you are,” Poe chuckles. “Unscathed.”

“Barely,” she grumbles.

She sounds so… normal. So unlike the skittish creature he knows.

_Because of you. You are meant to instill fear._

“You are stronger than you know, my dear,” Poe prattles on, and Kylo feels a bristling of his skin at the familiarity.

 _She’s mine,_ his mind screams against all reason.

“If I wind up dead, it will be your conscience that suffers.”

“Hardly,” Poe laughs. “I’ll sleep just as blissful as ever… but I believe you aren’t as begrudged by my request of you as you pretend to be.”

“Excuse me? Of course I am.”

“Are you? Then… you have no want of the Supreme Leader’s bed?”

There is a pregnant pause before a stammered, “No.”

He hears a shuffle of feet as Poe’s voice seems to draw closer to where the girl stands. “Then will any do? There are no knives in _my_ bed, Rey.”

The boiling of Kylo’s blood is so hot that he doesn’t even take a moment to relish in the knowledge of her name. He bursts out of the entry as if pulled on a string— tearing across the short distance to where they stand under the terrace, nearly hidden in shadow. Poe’s fingers rest beneath her— _Rey’s—_ chin, standing so _close_ and doing nothing for Kylo’s anger.

“ _Get away from her,”_ he seethes.

To his surprise Poe doesn’t even look disturbed by Kylo’s potential wrath. He merely steps away with his hands in the air, grinning in that way that makes Kylo want to remove a few of his teeth. “I was wondering when you would tire of eavesdropping.”

Kylo is left standing there like an idiot, fists clenched and chest heaving. “How did you—”

“You’re hardly stealthy, friend. Too big, I’m afraid.” Poe pats Rey’s shoulder. “We’ll speak another time. I fear you have other matters to attend to.”

He saunters off then, whistling some tune as if he hasn’t a care in the world.

Kylo wonders why he hasn’t killed him yet.

He is so lost in his anger it takes several seconds for him to notice her inching away— trying to retreat to the south entrance of the stronghold.

He closes the gap between them to reach for her wrist. “I’m not finished with you.”

He expects her to be afraid. To look at him with the fear he’s come to know. He isn’t prepared for the _fire_ in her eyes. “Either let me go, or kill me and be done with it. I’m tired of this game of yours.”

He feels his mouth fall open. “ _What did you just say?”_

“You heard exactly what I said, Alpha.” He has to physically resist the shiver this gives him. “Make a _choice.”_

He keeps hold of her wrist as he stares down at her— utterly at a loss. Who _is_ she?

“Your name is Rey?”

Her expression morphs into confusion. This is obviously not what she expected him to say. It isn’t exactly what _he’d_ predicted either.

Her brow furrows with caution as she answers, “It is.”

“Have you fucked Poe since you arrived?”

He tries to contain the potential fury that will ensue if she says yes. To his relief she looks slightly outraged. “ _No.”_

“Because I will not allow you to—”

Her eyes are too bright. He is beginning to see that the scared kitten is her shell. _This_ is her. “You will not _allow?”_

He tightens his grip at her wrist. “Do not forget who owns you.” He notices her shiver, and he feels it as if it is his own. He feels his cock stirring despite it all. “Have you fucked _anyone_ since you arrived?”

Her lips curl in a sneer. “I have not. In fact— the only one I can’t seem to be rid of is _you.”_

He considers for a moment, her words bouncing around in his head as something builds and builds and _builds_.

And then it all snaps.

She is nothing— like a feather, like some ethereal thing that’s cast a spell. She lifts from the ground with almost _no effort_ from him, into his arms that are _so tight_ around her, and yet, she doesn’t protest. Doesn’t cry out or say _no—_ simply melts into him as if _yes,_ she wants this. Wants _him._

She never seems to _fight_ this.

He presses her into the wall in one swift movement, burying his nose in her hair and breathing deep. How does she _smell_ so much better now? How is it even affecting him at _all?_ It brushes along his memory. Sparks the idea of something— something he can’t quite—

“Wrap your legs around me.”

She doesn’t even hesitate. He can feel their tight grip as he pins her hands to the wall with his larger ones at her wrist, nothing keeping her suspended but his hips and her legs that encircle him like a vice.

He keeps a firm grip at her wrists— ensuring they remain pressed to the wall. Afraid that if she touches him he will lose whatever sanity he has left.

But it doesn’t stop him from touching _her._

No, his teeth and his tongue taste her, _take_ from her— enjoying her soft mewls and the way she stretches her neck to bare more of it to his mouth.

The _taste_ of her. It is like her scent. Like a honeyed mead that leaves him dizzy with it. His head swims; his skin _burns._ It’s unlike anything he’s ever known.

If he cants his hips he can feel the heat of her even through the simple buckskin trousers that cover his now-aching cock. The gauzy material that normally drapes her legs is bunched around her hips— and he knows that heat that sears him is her bare cunt. He wishes for more light so that he might lean back and see more of her.

In his battle skirt it would be so easy to shift a little. To push between her legs and slip inside her. She wouldn’t even fight him. He can sense it. He can _smell it._ How wet she is. How much she _wants this._

How long has it been since he’s been inside a woman?

How long has it been since he’s _wanted_ to?

His blood rushes in his ears as her cries turn needier. She turns her head, and something inside him warns _no._ It’s lost to the much louder yell of, _take. Take everything. It’s yours. It’s all yours._

Her tongue is gentle— but gentle isn’t something he knows. Like all things, he conquers. He divides. _His_ tongue finds hers just as harshly as everything else he does in life, but Rey _still_ doesn’t protest. She opens wider. She takes _everything_ he gives.

How does she _taste_ so much better than anything he’s ever had?

He releases a wrist only for a moment— for just enough time that he might tug at the laces of his trousers. That he might wrench them apart and free his throbbing cock.

_Fuck._

Her parted legs mean that he settles just between the slick crease of her— and if he presses against her he can feel that the hottest part of her envelope over the more sensitive skin of his dormant knot. He laments that he can’t give it to her. A Beta was not meant for it. He would break her just to try. He briefly wonders why he even worries for her at all.

He tries to bare more of her— tugging at the thin linen above her hips so hard that he hears the tear before he feels it. In the shallow moonlight he can see the gentle curve of her belly as his cockhead rests against it— smearing the dewy beads that escape into her skin.

 _“Alpha,”_ she pleads, tilting her pelvis as if searching for him. Her eyes are wild and dark, and her hand that has escaped his grasp finds his hair to tug.

He lets his fingers curl around her hip to still her. “Hush, Rey. You weren’t built for my knot.”

So he presses more deeply against her— his hand trailing up her arm to lift it— to pin it back to the wall as he ruts against her slick core with purpose.

Her mouth falls open in a gasp as her head falls back against the stone, and he can’t help but lean in to let his tongue swipe across her throat. He moves faster— sliding between her folds as the head of him collides just under her navel again and again and _again._

He can almost imagine he’s inside her. It’s enough to send him into a frenzy— rutting against her like a wild animal as his teeth graze her skin and his hands grip her wrists so tight they might bruise but the _sounds_ she makes beg for more and her body is so _tight_ now and—

He releases his grip when he feels her begin to tremble, and even as she comes against him he is still moving. Still chasing his own release and yet hoping to prolong it because she is so _hot_ and _wet_ but he’s so _close_ and he knows it is _right_ there.

He stops moving altogether when it hits with the force of a rolling wave— rocking through his entire body as he paints her stomach with his spend. Even after he continues to roll against her— enjoying the feel of himself on her skin as he slides his cock over her navel in slow strokes.

His face is buried against her throat, breath leaving him in heavy pants. He feels the languid turn of her head, feels the soft press of her lips at his ear followed by the low whisper of, _“Alpha.”_

Her voice is sated and heady— as if he hasn’t just pressed her into a wall and taken what he needed from her. As if he’s given her some sort of _gift._ It makes him hungrier. Makes him want to take every part of her. To _give_ her every part of him.

He would do it.

He would give her anything.

He would _be_ anything. Whatever she asked. He would—

_Weak._

_So weak._

_Just like your father._

It is like ice— the cold that creeps up his spine. She’s doing it again. _Owning_ him, without even trying. It’s just as Snoke said. Not even an _Omega. That_ is how weak he must be.

It takes so much to pull away. It takes _everything._ He’s still holding her against the wall. She’s still _looking_ at him as if she wants him. How can she want him? She doesn’t even _know_ him. Doesn’t know the depths of what he’s done. What he _could_ do.

He sets her to her feet, not _gently_ per se, as his body vibrates with some frenetic energy, but quietly. _Slowly._ His hands slide down her forearms at a pace as if he’s afraid of what he might do otherwise. Her feet hit the ground, but her hands find his arms to steady herself. Her touch is light against his skin but it is like _fire_ in the way it burns through him.

She looks thoroughly wrecked— dress torn, skin sticky and red from his mouth—

His hands linger on her waist, gripping _tight_ , unsure of what he will do. He has no idea what she’s done to him. He’s never needed anything in his entire life.

But right now he almost feels like he needs her.

He’s too stunned to even be angry.

He peels his fingers away.

He puts distance between them.

She tries to close it, but he won’t let her. “Alpha, please, I—”

“ _Stop.”_

She halts mid-step as if she has no other choice. Kylo doesn’t allow her to try again. He turns on his heel— leaving her as breathless as he still feels as he practically runs from the room.

 _I am not weak,_ he argues with the ghost in his head. _I’m not._

He repeats it over and over and _over._

Even if it might not be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know it’s funny, this chapter didn’t even have any real porn in it when I first drafted it. I don’t know why, but I needed him to tell her that she couldn’t take his knot. 🤤 While he still has the chance. 👀


	5. let’s go up in flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🔥🔥🔥

Rey is beginning to think she might be better off in the desert.

In her nineteen years she has never needed anything. Never depended on anyone. She’s survived the harsh desert sun and the wild dogs and Gods, _Plutt—_ all by her own strength of will.

It is because of this that her embarrassment over what Kylo has reduced her to— this pitiful, _needy_ creature that she hates— only burns hotter.

She’d feared him at first, and perhaps maybe a part of her still does, but it is overshadowed by _anger._

How dare he transform her into this mewling thing that turns to putty at the mere closeness of him. He need only _look_ at her, and she is made to beg— _wants to,_ even.

She hardly even recognizes herself.

He’d left her in that courtyard half-nude and flushed and too dazed to even protest, really. She can still feel the way her body went rigid of its own accord with just a word from him.

As if she couldn’t help it.

Now it is as if she doesn’t exist at all. For nearly two days, she hasn’t caught sight nor sound of him— not to mention _scent—_ even that heated spice she’d come to look for escaping her attention.

She would laugh if she weren’t so frustrated. The mighty _Kylo Ren—_ hiding from her, a servant. A _Beta_ no less.

She reaches for her neck for the dozenth time that day— rubbing at the strange tightness there and wondering if she might have slept wrong. Her skin feels… off. Almost as if it’s trying to leave her bones.

She wonders if she might be growing ill. That would adequately mirror her current streak of luck, no doubt.

She enters the storeroom in search of fresh linens for the upper floors— wiping sweat from her brow without knowledge of why it even lingers there. It’s relatively cooler than most days here, and yet she feels as if she’s run a great distance. Her breath is labored and heavy, and her brow is cool with her perspiration.

“Ah,” a voice sounds behind her. “There you are.”

Her eyes are narrowed before she even turns to greet him. “What do you want now? Perhaps the dogs need a chew toy?”

“So feisty,” Poe laughs.

“Tell me what you want, Poe, and then leave me alone.”

“Is that how you speak to all your friends?”

She scowls as pulls a stack of linens down from the shelf. “If I had any— I’d assume they wouldn’t keep putting me in positions that might end my life.”

“Do you really think he would hurt you?”

“I told you he held a _knife_ to my—”

“Because I don’t,” Poe interrupts. “In fact, I think we’re going to help each other.”

“How can I possibly help you?”

He leans against the wall as he crosses his arms. “I came to this hellhole when I was ten years old. On my fourth day here I met a boy. Little scrap of a thing. The circumstances for his coming here… he was near catatonic. Hardly ate, never _spoke—_ the things I watched him endure over the years— the thing he _became—_ it doesn’t sit well with me.”

“And what exactly am I to do about it?”

“He doesn’t care about anything. He doesn’t _need_ anything— and yet he can’t seem to leave you alone. I just want you to… encourage that.”

She snorts as she tucks the linens close to her chest. “And why would I do that?”

“Besides the fact that you _want_ to?”

She feels her face heat. “I— I don’t want—”

He takes a step closer, hands reaching for the bundle in her arms as he gently pulls it away. “Lies are often heavy on the tongue.” He gives her a coy grin. “Perhaps you should just swallow them instead.”

She averts her gaze as that same heat creeps down her neck. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m fairly certain you do,” he urges lowly, “and if it interests you… our Supreme Leader demanded that I send a Beta to aid with his bath.”

“S-surely he didn’t mean me,” she stammers. “I’ve not seen him since…”

Poe winks at her as he returns the linens to their place on the shelf. “I suppose it’s good he didn’t think to specify that tiny detail then, isn’t it.”

Rey watches him stroll out of the room— wondering if there is _anything_ that happens in this stronghold that Poe doesn’t toy with from behind the scenes.

She considers the bit of information he left with her— fingers teasing along the column of her throat as she rubs unconscious circles into the strange prickling there.

Continually putting herself in his way is surely harmful to her health. She has no business seeking him out. She would be risking his anger, and _worse._

_Do you really think he would hurt you?_

Rey wonders if Poe is right.

As she leaves the room with the most insane of intentions— moving as if tied to a string beyond her control— she doesn’t even notice the way her fingers are still absentmindedly stroking at the bit of sensitive skin just under her ear.

* * *

The steam is still so heavy that it obstructs her vision.

It clings to her skin and her clothes and he’s _just there—_ lounging in the stone recess with his arms stretched out on either side of him over the ledge.

He hasn’t noticed her yet.

She knows because he is so deathly still— head resting against a cushion on the edge of the tub, and nearing closer she notices the wet cloth over his eyes and nose— accentuating his plush mouth that is too soft for his hard body. The ends of his hair drip with moisture from the bath— and the stark red petals that float on the surface clash heavily with the paleness of skin.

She wonders why she feels the overwhelming urge to touch him.

He doesn’t stir until she kneels behind him— shuffling the clay pitcher there to dip her hands inside. She knows exactly what to do now.

“That won’t be necessary,” he murmurs without moving. “Just leave the linens and go.”

She stills for only a moment— heart hammering in her chest without giving a response. She supposes it’s too late to turn back now.

He tenses when her fingers first touch his skin— surprised, she thinks, when her hands press into his chest slowly only to return to his shoulders at an equally languid pace.

He reaches to tear the cloth away from his face. “I said, that won’t be—”

It’s just like that first day.

His hand wrapped around her wrist so tight it begins to throb, his eyes boring into hers with a heat that leaves her helpless.

His voice is barely a whisper now. “What are you doing here?”

She swallows around her tongue that is now too dry. “What I was meant to. Serving.”

His grip on her wrist slackens just a fraction. “Is that what you’re doing.”

“You don’t want me to?”

His jaw works as he studies her face. “I could tear you apart, if I wanted.”

“You could,” she breathes.

“And yet you came looking for me.”

“I did.”

She watches his nostrils flare as his eyes darken considerably— but then his fingers leave her skin one by one, and she thinks maybe he’ll settle as he was. That he’ll let her touch him like she’d planned.

So when he shifts away from the ledge a little— extending a hand in silent invitation— it takes her a little by surprise.

“Come here.”

A flicker of memory assaults her. She feels so different this time. Not afraid but… _wanting_ . She eyes his outstretched palm in a daze— slipping her fingers into it without thought. Pulled into the water without protest. Always moving closer to him without a thought of saying no. Always wanting to be _closer._

The gauzy red of her skirt floats on the water— clouding around them as he pulls her onto his naked thighs.

His fingers settle at her hips below the water— tight as if holding himself back. “Your hands,” he whispers with less force than the last time they’d been here. “Use them.”

She breaks her gaze away with difficulty— distracted by the water that clings to his torso. By the way it heaves under her eyes. She trails her fingers over the width of his chest, feeling the way they tremble slightly from the heat of his skin.

“You said you came to serve me.”

She flicks her eyes upwards to meet his dark ones that peer back at her. “Is that what you want, Alpha?”

His grip on her hips tightens. “I want a great number of things,” he murmurs. “Do you know what I’ve thought about since that night in the courtyard?”

She shakes her head, watching as his eyes rake over what is surely the now-sheer fabric of her gown.

“I’ve thought about what it might have been like if I’d given you my knot that night,” he tells her with a rasp she’s not heard from him before. “If you might have shed tears for the pain of it.” One large thumb strokes at her belly in a slow movement that makes her suck in a breath. “I wondered if I might have enjoyed it anyway.” He watches her face now intently. “Does that not frighten you?”

It should. Maybe in some small way it _does._

_Do you really think he would hurt you?_

She inhales deep to steady herself. “If you break me, how will I serve you?”

She doesn’t miss the low rumble of his chest of the way he pulls her just a little closer. She can feel the thick weight of him between her thighs, and when she shifts against him in a nearly unconscious motion— his eyes flutter and his mouth parts and even with the heady scent of the bath she catches the sharp spike of heat and spice and _him._

“Then serve me,” he demands through gritted teeth. “I want your hands, Rey. Touch me.”

She has no experience with this— nothing to guide her but this strange instinct to _please him._

She watches his face as she reaches beneath the water— watching the way his eyes screw shut when her fingers brush against him rigid and straining between them. Her touch is tentative and experimenting— but when she allows her hand to wrap fully around him— the loll of his head seems as involuntary as the hiss of his breath.

Suddenly his hand wraps around hers to keep her there— forcing her to grip him roughly as another hand pulls her as close as she can be. As if her brief touches aren’t enough. As if he needs so much more.

“Let me show you,” he grates.

He forces her to work his cock— dragging her fist up and down as he shudders slightly. He groans as he tightens his grip around her hand, and his head falls to her shoulder as he begins to thrust his hips into the punishing rhythm of their fists.

If she turns her head, she can see the angry red some flared point at his throat— and if she leans to press her mouth there she can feel the searing warmth of it against her lips, even as a strangled sound escapes him.

She flicks out her tongue to taste at the raised flesh— and a sharp tang of that same spice that is _him_ explodes against her tongue. It’s dizzying, whatever this part of him is. She allows him to use her hand in whatever way he wants— even as his grip is so tight her fingers might go numb, and his hips rut upwards at a mindless pace.

She’s a little lost in the taste of him— her senses addled by his flavor on her tongue as a heat crawls up her spine that nearly makes her _burn_ with it. She can feel him swelling between her fingers— a thickening at the base of him that makes her insides clench with a need for it.

It’s not meant for her— she _knows_ this— but she _wants it._

She wants it so much that she pushes closer until she can feel his hand between her legs with every movement. She rolls her hips instinctively as if seeking him, and she knows there will be bruises at her waist from the way he’s gripping her there.

“Rey,” he manages through gritted teeth. “ _Rey.”_

The taste of him that she draws from becomes so thick it is like a potent ale that might leave her just as intoxicated. The sounds he makes are _inhuman_ , and his body _shakes_ against her and she can feel him so swollen it is most _certainly_ painful—

And then he goes deathly still. So still save for the pulsing of his cock and the blooming warmth in her hand as he empties into the water. He rolls his neck as her tongue laps there— and one strong arms pulls her into his chest as if encouraging her to continue with the sloppy path of her mouth.

She wants more. _Needs it_ even.

She doesn’t understand this deep seated need. It’s something beyond _wants_ and _restraint_ and is only born from some blind _yearning_ that is wound into the very fabric of her being.

He pulls her hand from the water, drawing it higher slowly as he turns it over to bare her wrist. He runs his nose along the bend there, his grip tightening as he draws a deep breath from her skin— coming away with a look of bewilderment.

 _“Rey,”_ he chokes in a voice that sounds unlike him. “Rey, I—”

The sound of the bells nearly jolts her back to her senses.

They chime so loud she can nearly feel the reverberation. Kylo pulls away to stare at her as they ring— still breathing heavily as the heavy tones pound away until finally dissipating into nothing.

“The gates.” His voice is too airy. Too soft to even resemble him.“I have to…” He swallows. “I—” He’s still staring down at her wrist as if it’s an alien thing. “I need you to wait for me.” He pulls her wrist close again for another deep inhale. “Until I return.”

“Alpha, I—”

A swipe of his tongue at her skin silences her. “Do you understand? My chambers. Go straight there. Don’t leave.” His eyes find hers to hold them. “Tell me you understand.”

She tries to nod, limbs still heavy with some thrumming heat.

“ _Tell me you understand, Rey.”_

“I understand, Alpha.”

She _doesn’t_ understand the look in his eyes. Doesn’t understand the strange gleam there, but her skin hums with the force of his command. With a need to please him.

She feels it in the pounding of her heart and the rushing of blood in her ears.

He surprises her when his fingers curl around her nape, pulling her in close to crash his mouth to hers. It’s just like everything he does— too rough, almost painful— but it’s something she’s beginning to crave.

“I’ll return soon, little one. Do as I said.”

She watches him lift from the bath— unable to tear her eyes away from his body as she watches him don his battle skirt before reaching for a leather body vest and slipping it over his shoulders.

He casts her one last searching glance— staring at her as if seeing her for the first time.

Then she’s alone.

She remains in the bath for several moments— feeling as if she’s been stretched from every direction even as her skin still burns. She lifts from the bath slowly as she moves to follow his instruction— shuffling to sit for awhile in a daze so that she can dry.

She is so lost in thought it is almost easy to attribute the throbbing at her neck to some aftermath of her encounter with Kylo.

It’s far too easy not to notice the heat that is blooming inside her.

* * *

She doesn’t make it far before the pain starts.

It’s slow at first. Like embers that beg to be stoked, simmering low in her belly. It blooms as if the air itself breathes new life into the flames.

She can’t make sense of the ache inside— nor can she justify the beading of sweat on her brow. Her breath is heavy in her lungs like the haze that lingers over heated sand. Every inhale births new agony she’s never experienced.

Rey wonders briefly if she might be dying.

A body finds her— hands she can hardly see belonging to a voice she faintly recognizes. Kaydel. _Kaydel._ She knows this voice.

The words are murky at best, but Rey can pick out _get help_ and _wait here._

But she can’t do that.

Her Alpha made a demand of her. She must obey. She pushes on— stumbling through the halls and driven only by instinct. Pushed by the need to _be safe_ and _find Alpha._

_Alpha is coming._

Something deep insides coos at her to soothe— and it is this alone that drives her forward.

But her legs are heavy, and her head is dizzied, and everything is so _hot_ and everything begins to _ache_ and she stumbles— falling to the floor in a heap as the pain consumes her.

 _“Alpha,”_ she whimpers. “ _Kylo.”_

More bodies crowd her, and these too, she doesn’t recognize.

But their words aren’t kind, and their touch isn’t gentle.

The deep rumble of the guards are lost to her— but their words ring out all the same like a handed down sentence.

“I know what’s happening here,” one says.

“We have to take her to the brothels,” says another. “Before the Supreme Leader learns of this mistake.”

“Yes.” She feels a hand cup her jaw roughly to tilt her face, and through the watery state of her eyes she can just make out a sneer that pierces the heat inside her like a trickling of ice. “We have to get rid of her before we all pay the price.”

She tries to scream— but the words won’t come.

Rey curls into herself, knowing that no one is coming for her.

Knowing that she’s all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like you’re all going to call Kylo a dummy, (and yeah he kind of is) but late presentation is seriously unheard of in his world. He definitely made a discovery here— but he had no idea that she was going into heat. Just trying to clear the air before everyone yells at him maybe. 😂
> 
> Also, I could tell you this will be fine but I’ve learned that this never makes anyone feel better. 😂


	6. attempt to rearrange with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes sense! I wanted Kylo a little mindless. Also, there is a bit where they are, ah, _together_ and Rey falls asleep but Kylo sort of, ah, keeps going to force her back awake, but this is in the throes of a heat/rut so they’re both pretty senseless at this point. Just thought I’d mention it just in case. ❤️

It’s like an itch. Some deep-seated prickling inside that he can’t reach.

Like insects. Crawling over his skin.

Even like this— his hands stained with blood as the sun beats down on him— he can’t seem to ignore it.

The numbers of the enemy company dwindle now, and for the first time since he arrived in Snoke’s stronghold— the weight of his sword doesn’t comfort him.

He can taste her scent on his tongue. Feel it like a physical _weight._

_Omega._

Even now he can’t make sense of it.

He’s spent years ensuring he would never encounter one. But it’s there, like a memory, like words written on a page that can’t be erased. Carved into his bones since the beginning of time. There’s no denying what she is.

The very _idea_ of her should make him ill.

But her eyes are there when he closes his own. His blood cries out for her— a primal urge to take, to _claim._ A steady chorus of _break her_ and _knot her_ and _mine_ snarling inside him.

There isn’t enough death on these sands to snuff out the thought of her.

She’s waiting for him. Right now. He wonders what she’ll taste like.

He glances at his skin once more to ensure that nothing scurries there. That it’s only his _skin_ that crawls this way.

_Omega._

He swings his sword until the sick _squelch_ of blood and the sharp _crack_ of bone drown out the cries to _go._

He wrenches his sword from between some faceless soldier’s ribs— sneering as he wipes the blade free of gore against his battle skirt, but the stain remains. It’s something he can never truly rid himself of — this weight of blood that he can never truly wash away.

Sometimes he wonders if he was born of it.

The steady _thud_ of hooves approaches, and Kylo narrows his eyes against the blaring sun as the shadow of Poe’s horse comes into view. In his grip rests the reins for Kylo’s own stallion, Starkiller snorting just behind.

Kylo ignores the itch, ignores the creeping of urges coursing through him, gritting his teeth. “I told you to guard the gate.”

“I need you to come back,” Poe tells him, ignoring his scolding.

Kylo lets out a growl, turning away from him. “I’ll return when they’re all dead.”

“ _Kylo_.” Poe’s voice is laced with something he’s never heard before. _Desperation_. It forces him to halt. “It’s Rey.”

Heat blooms in his chest, something like wildfire that burns through his veins like kindling.

_Omega._

He can’t mount his horse fast enough.

* * *

Her scent brings many things.

 _Confusion_ is first— the honeyed citrus touching his skin like the brush of her fingers— but the source nowhere to be found.

Then it turns darker, because there’s something else. Something _wild._ It’s her— but it’s sweeter, _heavier_ — he can taste it, the need in it, the desperation, the _heat._

No longer an itch but a _vibration—_ every cell in his body trembling all at once as liquid _heat_ courses through his veins.

Everything is only sounds and colors and _her_ and he has to find her. He _has_ to.

His hands enclose around a delicate throat, slim fingers clutching at his larger ones. He can feel Poe trying to pull him away, trying to pry him from this frail thing that bears her scent— _Kaydel,_ she’d said— but Kylo is lost to a cacophony of sounds that blare inside him.

“ _Where is she?”_

Strangled sounds escape from the Beta that gasps for breath. “She— _ah—_ sick— help—”

Poe’s hands still curl around Kylo’s bicep, his voice shouting now. “ _Heat,_ Kylo. She’s in _heat_ you damned brute! Let her go. You’re wasting time.”

He breathes deep through his nostrils, her scent tickling his senses and filling him up and _his—_ she is _his._

 _Not her,_ something cries out. _This isn’t her._

He drops the Beta to the floor, backing away roughly as he shoves Poe aside. She’s somewhere in the stronghold. Somewhere without _him_.

It’s something he’s never allowed himself. An Omega in heat. Even before he knew the truth of his mother— he’d been terrified that he might claim one. That one might _rule_ him.

That he’d end up just like them.

_Weak. Just like your parents._

He snarls as he shakes away the ghost of his mentor. It’s drowned out by something more primal. Something that _howls_ inside him.

Her scent is on the air, faint, but _there._ It’s all he needs. He tears off in search of it, following the trail of honey and citrus through the halls to find the source.

To find _her._

* * *

It’s thicker here. More potent. More _her._

_But why is she here?_

He’s followed her scent right into the caravan hold.

_Is she trying to escape?_

The thought fills him with rage. She can’t _leave_. He won’t _let_ her.

He tears open the heavy wooden doors, one of them coming loose at its hinge and hanging haphazardly to one side. Her scent hits him like a blow to the gut, filled with some desperate emotion. Something like _fear._

He can scent it. Pain, and need, and something that _pleads._ Pleads for _him._

She’s here. Somewhere. He just has to —

“ _No.”_ It’s a moan, and it _cuts_ him. He feels it _inside._ “ _Please.”_

There’s a spike, _pain,_ just _pain._ He sees red — bright, pulsing red behind his eyes as a rush of _find her claim her mine_ roars in his ears.

He’s running now— past the stables towards the daylight that pours in from outside.

 _The doors are open. She’s leaving. She_ can’t _leave._

But she’s not alone.

Because when he sees her — _mine mine mine —_ there are men there. _His_ men. _Touching_ her. Trying to force her in the back of a caravan. Hands at her wrists that tug. Fingers in her hair that _pull._

_Hurting her._

The sound that escapes him is barely human.

His men turn, surprised, he thinks, but he can hardly see their faces. Anger unlike anything he’s ever known courses through him, because she belongs to _him._

How  _dare_ they touch her?

He thinks they beg for mercy. Thinks they might try to explain — but it’s lost to the roaring in his ears. He feels bones break in his grip and there are screams that hardly register and _blood —_ on his hands, always on his hands.

But it’s for her now.

He would kill a _thousand_ men for her.

Even when they’re silent, even when they’re _still —_ he can’t stop. His fist lands again and again and _again._ Until they’re hardly recognizable. Until they’re _nothing._

But her whimpers pull him from his stupor.

And her _scent_ makes him remember.

He’s at her side in an instant, pulling her into his arms, and how she _clings_ to him.

“Alpha,” she mewls, her voice a shell of what it was. “ _It hurts.”_

She’s dripping — _soaked_ between her legs. It trickles down her thighs to leave the gauzy fabric of her skirt a drenched mess. Her arms are stained red from his hands, and it feels wrong somehow, her skin tainted as his so often is. He sets her on the edge of a nearby caravan, and she whines in protest as she scrambles to make her way back into his arms.

He quietly urges her to be still, his voice resonant with a command he knows she will obey, and he turns and looks about the floor desperately. He finds a stray bucket of water that is probably saved for the caravans— but he hoists it beside her as he frantically cleans his hands. As he rinses them of anything that might tarnish her.

She’s restless as he works, her squirms turning into pleadful cries as he moves to wash away any lingering traces of blood at her arms. It’s only when she’s clean that he pulls her back into his arms, only when there’s no threat that he will dirty her. She nuzzles at his throat, cooing his name even as her tongue presses to his gland — a satisfied hum sounding from both of them.

“ _Rey_.” He grips at the fabric around her ribs, holding her tight. “I’m here.”

 _“Alpha.”_ She extends her neck as she rubs mindlessly against his, and it’s like opium, the way her scent blends with his own to rob him of any remaining sense. _“Please.”_

His cock pulses with a need to bury inside her — and he could have her. Right here. She would allow it — but something inside him needs her safe. Needs her locked away from the world where only he can have her.

He grips her a little tighter, gritting his teeth as he urges her to hold on. As he carries her through the doors and the halls and up stairs and she’s still _writhing_ in his grip and he can _feel_ the wet of her cunt against his stomach.

He hoists her over his shoulder, one arm wrapped around the back of her thighs tight. It is nothing to push the sodden fabric of her skirt away, to sink two fingers inside of her and she’s so _hot_ and _wet_ here and she _moans_ only to push back against his hand and he only presses _deeper._

She coats his fingers to drip down his hand and when he pulls away from her, he feels his chest heave with the weight of her essence. He licks at his fingers, eyes rolling in the back of his head as his cock _throbs._

_Almost there._

He reaches frantically beneath the leather around his hips to smear the rest of her over his aching cock, the relief fleeting as he climbs the final stairs two steps at a time.

He pushes through the door to his chambers, slamming it behind him before he lays it over his bed. She immediately begins to burrow beneath his linens, grabbing for pillows and throws and pulling them around her. He turns away to grab for the chaise— dragging it in front of his door to bar entry.

But it’s not _enough_.

His wardrobe follows — falling on its side as he shoves it too, in front of the door. Then a chair, and a chest — everything in the room save for the bed becomes a barricade at his door until _finally,_ he is satisfied.

_Safe. She’s safe._

But not from him.

He finds her writhing beneath a pile of everything cloth she could find — soft sounds escaping her that blend with his name as she _begs_ for him.

It hits him then that this heat inside him begs for her as well. Like a _need._ For a moment it fills him with panic.

_Weak. Already, she has made you weak._

To have her is to lose her. He knows this more than anyone. Following that same path of his parents will end only in death.

“ _Kylo_.”

It’s a whisper, a hushed plea, and his doubts crumble with his resolve because there is nothing but _fire_ now and she belongs to _him_ and _no one_ will take her from him.

He tears off his clothes, tossing them to the floor as he crawls over her. Her hands smooth over his skin as he rips the ruined scrap of her dress away — adding its remnants to his own on the floor until she is nothing but her skin and her slick and her _scent_ beneath him.

There’s no room for words or wooing — not with the way she needs him. Not with the way he needs _her._

So he hungrily takes from her mouth, her tongue moving over his as he swallows her greedy little cries. Her fingers find the swollen heat of his glands — rubbing there as if she now understands what it does to him. He knows if he were to look now she would bear an equal mark.

He breaks from her mouth in search of it — even if only to confirm that by some strange turn of events she _has_ suddenly become his perfect match.

As if all that’s happening here isn’t evidence enough.

He finds the raised skin, laving his tongue over it as her flavor explodes against his tongue. Every fiber of his being is alight with _her,_ and his hand wraps around her thighs to spread her wide.

“Please,” she whimpers. “Please, Alpha.”

“My name,” he chokes out. “I want my name.”

“ _Kylo.”_

It’s almost soothing. Her tongue is the only one that’s held his name and brought him something like comfort.

His fingers find her cunt to press, and her back arches as he soaks the thick digits in the slick that streams from her. This is for _him._ It’s all for _him._

Again he coats his cock with her fluids, enjoying the heat that stems there, even slightly enjoying the pain of it because it only makes him _harder._

He pulls away from the heady taste of her that seeps from her gland with great effort, and leans up to take in the darkness of her eyes. The way her pupils consume the iris to leave them nearly black.

He never looks away as he dips his cock to slip inside her. His eyes flutter a little as her mouth falls open and he’s lost now because _tight, so tight_ and he surges forward without any hesitance or any of the gentleness she probably deserves.

There is a wince, a slight pinching of her features — but he tears his eyes away to watch as he withdraws. His eyes are fixed on the sheen of red that coats his cock, and the roar is louder now because _mine, all mine no one else only mine._

“ _Alpha.”_ Her hands claw at his shoulders and her lips seek out his throat just as her tongue catches there. “ _Kylo.”_

She’s too tight for this, this rough propulsion of his body into hers, but she doesn’t protest. He’s not entirely sure if it would even matter if she _did._ Rational thought is a foreign concept in this moment.

His hands grip her waist as he pushes inside her, obscene little sounds ringing through the roaring and causing him to shudder.

_She can take more._

He slips out of her for only a moment, flipping her to her stomach and pulling at her hips just as he sinks back inside. He curls a hand beneath her, pressing under her belly, and he can _feel_ himself there. Feel himself so deep that the weight of him can be felt even here.

Like this he can feel the sticky mess of her against his thighs, watch the needy arch of her back as she pushes against him, see the bright red of another gland just hidden behind the base of her neck, hot and _pulsing_ and _begging_ for his teeth.

It's still there— that formication, that itch just beneath his skin that makes him hyper aware of his own body. It sinks deep until the crawling is over his very bones and with every thrust into her tight little body there is a caress of relief but it’s _not enough_ because it always _comes back._

She’s gasping when he leans over her, gargled sounds and breathy cries for _more_ that are sweeter than any music that’s ever touched his ears.

His tongue is tentative at first, as it flicks against the swollen flesh of this larger gland he knows she never even knew existed. He knows what it does. Knows why it is _here_ — and as the press of his tongue is joined by the scrape of his teeth Rey _moans_ in pleasure as her cunt grows _tighter_ and _wetter._

Her body is trembling now, her head turning to the side so that her cheek is pressed into the makeshift nest where he takes her. She peers over her shoulder with those same dark eyes, wild with a need for what only he can give her.

He wraps his lips around the swollen flesh to suck, her scent creeping over his tongue and down his throat and he can _feel_ his knot tingling as it threatens to swell and he knows how _good_ it will feel. He knows that she will be the best thing he’s ever felt.

His senses are clouded, his judgment a fragile thing that’s locked away in the more rational parts of his mind — and he licks at her mating gland with purpose as a rumble sounds in his chest.

“You’re mine,” he rasps. “All of you.”

“ _Yes, Alpha.”_

_Knot her, claim her, mine mine mine._

_“Say it.”_ He scrapes his teeth against the pulsing red skin, and she moans as her cunt clenches around him. “ _Say it, Rey.”_

“ _Yours_.” It’s a whimper, a pitiful sound, but still it is like _music._ “ _Yours, Kylo.”_

His cock swells, his knot beginning to stretch as her cunt quivers and her body _trembles_ and she begins to _shake all over_ as slick _gushes_ around him and the roaring is _so loud now_ but his knot is _swelling_ and—

Then it all goes quiet.

For a handful of seconds everything is white. Goes _quiet. Suspended,_ like he’s been tossed to the bottom of the deep blue sea and his breath is trapped deep inside his lungs. His vision is nothing more than an absence of all things as his teeth _just_ bite down against her mating gland.

Then it breaks through, and colors begin to bleed back in as sounds crash all around him and he can _feel her_ — under him and around him and _inside him._

Gone is the itch that lives beneath his skin, and in its place is the gentle brush of her fingers, the soft sighs that fall from her lips. _She_ lives there now.

His knot is locked inside her, but his need for her isn’t yet satisfied. He pushes against the tightness, feeling the way his knot is wont to be separated from the warmth of her. With every tug more of his own fluids flood her womb — and there is _so much_ already.

Still he works at her. He ignores the frantic little pleas and the sated mewls as he fucks her through his knot. It’s shallow, very little give to the short thrusts, but with coaxing he’s able to _just_ pull from her body to slide back inside.

He closes his eyes as the slippery stretch swallows the thickened flesh of his knot, and when he opens them the sharp imprint of his teeth can be seen over her gland and she’s _his. All of her._

It all belongs to him.

He can taste her blood on his tongue, and something deep whispers to him of what he’s done. What it will mean when this roaring frenzy dies.

But it’s lost in this moment of her scent and her slick and _her —_ and he settles over her pliant body as he mindlessly works his knot slightly in and out of her.

She is little more than a boneless heap as he continues these tiny motions, the give not enough to leave her completely but _just_ enough to send a jolt of pleasure up his spine and a subsequent burst of his spend deeper inside.

He never stops. Even when the soft sighs of sleep claim her — he merely pulls her against his chest as he settles them on their sides and continues his senselessly slow rutting.

He fucks her like this until his body is coated with sweat and his lungs _burn_ with effort and his eyes blur with fatigue.

When his actions stir her awake, his knot _just_ beginning to deflate — he takes her all over again until he can feel the swell of it once more. He pounds into her from behind and his hand curls around her throat until he can _feel_ himself being locked inside her again.

Only then does weariness win out. Only then does he let her sleep. He molds her to him, nuzzling the warmth of her throat as he gives one last flick of his tongue against the broken skin of her mating gland.

The whisper is still there, but it is drowned out by a larger voice now. The hushed taunts of _weak_ are buried beneath of a steady hum of _mine mine mine._

Kylo lets it lull him, and with Rey’s warm body pressed against his own, he falls asleep to its sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I know I’m gross but I’ve been dreaming about him fucking her right through his knot. 😅 Indulge me.
> 
> Also, in this universe the omega doesn’t need to return the bite. 
> 
> Also, also, he didn’t really ask her consent for that bite, but guys he’s a BARBARIAN. Trust me, he’s being gentle with her by those standards. 😂


	7. i wait on you inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very unsurprised when this won the update schedule poll. 😂

Sometimes she wakes with him inside her.

It’s mindless, something she isn’t sure if he even realizes he’s doing, but hands grip to bruise and mouth wanders to redden her skin and his _cock_ inside her — it satisfies some part of her she hadn’t even known existed.

It’s never enough, she’s finding. 

There’s a blind need inside that somehow engulfs her own, but doesn’t belong to her. It is almost like a mirror of her own want — but darker, _stained_ even. She feels emotions that aren’t hers and hears whispers of _thoughts_ that would almost frighten her, were she not a bit mindless herself.

But it is the _heat_ that she is most aware of. 

A blaze that burns so bright she wonders if perhaps her bones might char from the inferno. She feels it licking at her insides through every waking moment — leaving her dizzied and helpless. The only thing that seems to bring relief is _Kylo._

She has no idea how many days they’ve been like this. Time seems to blend together into an indeterminable thing. 

Sometimes it’s dark when she wakes up reaching, always _reaching_ for him — other times the room floods with bright sunlight. 

Sometimes it’s almost quiet. Almost _normal_. It’s rare, and fleeting, but sometimes she wakes to his hands carding through her hair or his fingers pressed to her lips with some offering of food. 

Eating has become a chore — her body craving something more _carnal_ to satisfy it. He coaxes her in those brief periods of lucidity, holds her between his legs, wrapping them around her as if to trap her, quietly encouraging to take whatever morsel he’s offering. 

She suspects the food he gives her is something left over from the morning before this all began. The fruit has started to wither and the bread has begun to grow stale — but still he keeps her prisoner. Keeps her in his little cage as the contents of his room remain a barricade over the door that makes it impossible to escape.

As if she even wants to. 

There is nothing outside of his hands and his warmth and _him_ now. It’s the driving force that keeps her going in these moments. Some deep-seated instinct she doesn’t quite understand. Something that promises that _Alpha_ will care for her. That _Alpha_ has what she needs. 

Now is another time of waking — but it brings about something new. Something equally as wicked as everything else that has occurred in this room. 

It’s hot, _wet,_ slippery between her legs. His hands hold her thighs apart, and she hasn’t quite opened her eyes fully, but still her back arches in pleasure. 

But this only brings the hottest part of her closer to his mouth, and he is _greedy_ for it. 

She feels his tongue part her in a way that has little purpose beyond tasting her. Thick, _heavy_ strokes slide against the slick core of her as he consumes every bit of the trickling fluids that spill out. 

The _sounds_ he makes are heady — content hums and low growls that are more animal than man. 

It takes him a few moments to realize she’s awake. Her eyes flutter open to peer down between her legs, catching his gaze as he makes a slow lap up the length of her. 

He doesn’t tear his eyes away as he dips to flick his tongue at the sensitive bundle of nerves there. “I can feel it,” he rumbles. “Even when you sleep. I can feel what I’m doing to you.”

His tongue begins to circle the swollen bud with more purpose, finishing his ministrations with a heavy pull of his lips as he sucks it into his mouth. She can’t contain the whimper that slips past her lips. “ _Kylo.”_

He ignores her cries, nuzzling her center as his tongue teases her entrance. “It’s sweet. This part of you.” A slow push of his tongue inside her to drink her in. “And it’s mine.”

That fire is building deep inside, and the room blurs in a haze of colors as the rational part of her gives way to something needier. Something that _begs_ for this. 

Something that begs for _more._

“Please, Alpha. _Please._ I need — _ah.”_ His teeth nibble softly at the sensitive inner flesh before his tongue passes there to soothe. “ _More.”_

She feels his hand dip underneath her to tilt her hips, baring more of her to his mouth. He presses a finger at her entrance, slipping inside easily with the aid of her slick that still seeps out steadily. She’s so _wet_ now. More so than she’s ever experienced. 

He presses into her inner walls, stroking the soft flesh inside and applying some strange pressure that makes her squirm. 

“Look at the way you gush here,” he murmurs. “I never thought I would enjoy it so much.”

“Kylo, _please —_ ” 

“When I’m ready,” he tells her forcefully. “When _I_ say.”

She whimpers a little, even _hissing_ through her teeth when he adds another finger — spreading them apart to _stretch_ and she outright _moans_ when his mouth returns to suckle at the most sensitive part of her. 

Again and again he pulls that shivering pleasure from her — that mind-numbing, all-over bliss that tingles through her limbs down to her toes as a fresh torrent of slick gushes between her legs. 

And he’s just _there._

_Waiting._

Catching every drop on his tongue, as if he’s satisfied to keep her suspended in this torture forever. 

She doesn’t know how she can handle much more.

“Please, Kylo. _Please._ I need — I need you to —”

He grinds his fingers deep — curling them to touch some place deep inside that makes her shake helplessly. “What do you need, little one?” He leans over her to brush his lips over her hip bone, under her navel, moving in a languid pattern. “Tell me.”

She’s not even _sure_ — her mind so addled by heat and blind _need_ that she can’t quite grasp the words. “It hurts. It hurts _inside. Please, just —”_

“My knot, Omega,” he hums against her skin. “That’s what you want. Isn’t it? For me to fill you up?” He twists his fingers as if to punctuate his claim. “This isn’t enough for you. Is it.”

“ _No,”_ she whines. “More. I need… _more.”_

“Do you feel it, Rey? Do you feel me?”

“I don’t —”

“Concentrate. I want to know that I own you. Do you _feel me?”_

She lets her eyes flutter closed, pushing aside the blazing heat and the desperate want and it’s there — _something._ Something that isn’t born from her. It’s dark and _yearning_ and _deep._ Like talons sinking into her skin. Holding her. Keeping her _captive._

Telling her that her body is no longer her own. 

She fears the fact that she doesn’t fear it at all.

His lips wander now, between her thighs now bereft of his hands as he licks a path over her ribs, between her breasts, over her _throat —_ everywhere he can reach. 

“It’s there,” he rasps. “Isn’t it. You feel it.”

Her voice is a hushed whisper, engulfed by the flames that still burn inside her. “What did you do to me?”

He mouths below her throat, trailing over the curve of her shoulder until his tongue swipes across a patch of skin that _burns_ with some strange pleasure. Colors bloom in her vision — bleeding together into some bright vermillion that clouds her sight. 

“I _am_ weak, little one. So weak. But you’re mine. All of you. I won’t allow anyone to take you. Can you trust me?”

“I don’t — _ah,_ I don’t understand.”

“Tell me you trust me.” His voice is harder now. _Pleading._ “Tell me you _know_ that I will keep you safe.”

She isn’t sure what he’s asking of her — too lost to the rushing of blood in her ears and the burning that lives just under her skin, but she _feels_ it. This deep-seated fear that isn’t hers. This _pain_ that lives outside her body. 

She wants to take it from him. 

“ _Yes,_ Alpha. Keep me safe.”

Large hands glide over her thighs to part them, and _yes, oh yes —_ she can feel the nudge there. Feel him giving her what she needs. 

“You’re mine,” he growls into her skin. “ _Tell me.”_

“ _Yours.”_ It’s little more than a pitiful mewl, the head of his cock dipping shallowly in and out of her, relief _just there._ “I’m yours.”

“All of you,” he breathes, pushing inside her properly, the stretch like cool water to the fever that rages inside. “Every part.” She grips his shoulders as he fills her — whimpering into his throat as her tongue tastes him there blindly. The rush of his scent on her tongue only furthers her relief, and Kylo shivers with it. “ _Mine.”_

“ _Yes, Alpha,”_ she moans as he plunges inside until there is nowhere else to go. “ _Yours.”_

She feels the resonating purr in his chest, feels the hungry pleasure that seeps out of him and settles inside her — and she’s _glad_ for it, she finds. 

_Alpha is pleased._

It’s nearly as pleasurable as the thick length of him that strokes in and out of her, and she can’t find a trace of fear of belonging to him. 

She wonders if she will be able to say the same when the fever fades.

* * *

It’s the cold that lets her know when it all ends.

She wakes with a shiver — skin cooled with sweat that still clings to her skin in the aftermath. Rising from the bundled mess of linens is difficult, her head pounding and her throat dry. 

Every inch of her skin feels sticky and _used._ Muscles burn throughout her body that she hadn’t even known existed. She thinks perhaps she’s alone at first, the sun fading to leave only a dusky twilight. 

But then she spots the dark shape of him — draped in a chair that has found its proper place in the corner of his chambers, no longer being used to bar exit from the room. 

“Kylo?” 

His face is hidden in shadow — and she has to squint to make out the way his hand covers his jaw. The way his brow is turned down in thought. 

There’s something in the spicy scent of him, something acrid that makes her chest hurt. Makes her _afraid._ Is this what he feels?

She gingerly moves over the surface of the bed, taking the linens with her, but his hand reaches out in quiet request that she come no closer.

_Alpha is displeased._

She feels it course through her, settling in her belly to leave her a little sick. “Is something wrong?”

He is quiet for several moments, eyes unreadable in the meager light but definitely fixed on her. Studying. “Do you know how I came here?”

She goes still, hearing the desolation in his voice that is laced with a pain she actually _feels._

She shakes her head, afraid the sound of her voice will deter him from continuing.

“I was so small,” he explains quietly. “I remember men. So many men — storming my village. Sweeping from hut to hut. Sometimes I can still hear the screams in the night when I close my eyes.”

He pauses, still eyeing her face, and she has to clench her fingers to resist the physical urge to go to his side. To _comfort._

“The man who would mold me into this”— he sweeps a hand down the length of his body in gesture—“this _thing_ that I am — he told me that first day. How my mother and father abandoned me. How they left me to die so that they might save themselves. How they were slaughtered not a mile from our village — still clinging to each other.”

She holds her breath, her skin tight as if it too wants to go to him. 

He leans his head back against the wall, eyes pointed at the ceiling now. “I spent years — actual _years —_ hating them. Being told how weak they were. How _selfish._ Being told that the bond between an Alpha and Omega had been their downfall, and ultimately — mine. That they simply didn’t care enough about me, didn’t care about _anything_ outside their bond — not enough to protect _me.”_

She can’t help the whisper of his name that brushes over her lips, and he leans forward to find her gaze once more. 

“Do you know why I killed my mentor?”

She shakes her head slowly, clutching the sheets around her as her fingers tremble. 

He releases a deep breath. “Because I learned the truth.” His gaze finds the floor, and his shoulders rise and fall with a low chuckle that lacks anything resembling humor. “I believed it to be some faceless enemy. Some monster in the night that I would never see. Never touch. I spent _years_ slaughtering men — telling myself that perhaps _this_ would be the one that took them. That put me here. All with the whispered encouragement of _him.”_

She’s moving before it registers that she is — scrambling over the stone to fall between his knees only so that she can touch him. _Needing_ to. He doesn’t withdraw from her as she fears he might, only reaches to brush his thumb under her jaw in a slow back and forth. 

“It was him,” he whispered, his voice impossibly soft. “It was always him.” She climbs into his lap, arms entwining around his neck as he pulls her to his chest. She can hear the pounding of his heart there — _feel_ it, as if it is her own. “He wanted _me_. The rare _Alpha._  Nothing more than the perfect soldier to lead his armies.”

“He killed them,” she breathes. 

He nods against her hair. “My father was cut down in front of my mother. I’m told she begged for his life until his last breath. I’m told her screams could be heard for _miles._ ” 

“Your mother,” Rey whispers, “did she —”

Kylo sucks in a breath. “Snoke offered her a choice. Death… or to belong to him. You can imagine what she chose.”

“So he —”

“I wish. I _wish_ he’d killed her. She begged for death — but Snoke was cruel. _Twisted._ He doled out a worse punishment. He dropped her at the nearest brothel. Sold her for coins. She died within the year. I can’t imagine what she must have gone through.” He pulls her a little closer. “I was here. In these walls — safe, warm, _hating her —_ and she suffered alone, deserving none of my ire.”

“Kylo, you couldn’t have known —”

His voice takes on a sharp edge as it cuts through. “He let me believe for _years_ that I had been abandoned. That there was no one that had ever cared for me — that I was _alone._ ”

The air is heavy with the weight of his grief, and Rey feels it like a hand at her throat — stealing her breath. Can nearly _taste_ it as it rolls off of him in waves. Her hand slides up his throat of its own accord, cupping his jaw as she pushes up to look at him. 

So fearsome, so full of _hate —_ but underneath, she sees the pain that births it. That nurtures the darkness. She knows it’s there because she _shares_ it now. As if it is her own. 

“You’re not alone,” she whispers.

She feels his hands smooth up her spine, a shuddered breath leaving him as one large palm moves to cradle her head. His forehead rests against hers, his lips brushing over her own as his scent turns softer, _soothing_ even.

“Neither are you,” he chokes out. “Rey, I — I never intended to claim you. It’s not something I ever wanted. But then you —” A rush of air escapes his nostrils. “I’m not good. I never have been, but when you’re here — I don’t feel so bad.”

It’s as close to an admission of love as she thinks he’s capable. He _trembles_ with it. _Kylo Ren_ , reduced to a quivering mess in her arms. 

It might make her feel powerful — if his pain of it didn’t cut her to the core. 

She cards her fingers through his hair, pressing her lips to his jaw, and he sighs in content. As if he’s waited for this. As if he’s _needed_ a touch that doesn’t bruise. That doesn’t _take —_ only gives. 

“It’s okay,” she promises. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Probably not,” she admits. “But I do.”

She nuzzles at his throat, tasting the aroma that clings to his skin there as he hums pleasantly. “Are you sore?”

She shifts in his lap — muscles lax and skin tacky — but otherwise unharmed. “I’m all right.”

“You’ll need food,” he murmurs, fingers tickling down her back. “There’s nothing left in this room.”

Her tongue passes over that saturated point of his throat. “Mhm.”

He groans as she continues to shift in his lap — driven by a throbbing between her legs that builds anews as she feels slick gather between her legs. The fever is gone — but the _want_ remains _._

“ _Rey_.”

She turns her head, sliding her own neck against his and reveling in the burst of pleasure there as she discovers the newest places of her body. Kylo’s arms go tight around her, and she can feel the heavy weight of his cock rising between them. 

Even as he quietly protests, intent on feeding her — his hips begin to rut slowly against her center. Just as lost to the pull as she is. 

“Mine,” he murmurs. “All mine.”

“Yes, Alpha.” It’s a quiet admission as he moves to stand, bringing her with him and holding her to his chest. “ _Yes.”_

He covers her over his nearly ruined sheets in one swift motion — pressing her into the surface of his bed as his mouth nips incessantly over her collarbone, licking a path to her breasts as he draws a nipple deep in his mouth to suck. 

Her fingers tangle in his hair, and she can feel him — hard and insistent at her thigh as he rubs against her skin, leaving a sticky trail over her skin that is already so _stained_ with him. 

It’s not as frantic this time — the urgency dissipated, but she can feel so _much_ that she missed before. 

The way his breath catches when her fingers graze along the metal piercings at his ear, the way he leans into it when her tongue sweeps into his mouth, even the way his heartbeat pounds a rhythm against her chest that mirrors the beat of her own. 

So many things that make him feel more _human._

His fingers curl around her hip when he presses inside her, and she closes her eyes to revel in this part. To enjoy the slow stretch and the overwhelming fullness with senses not addled by dizzying heat. Even when she’s full, _too full —_ Kylo just keeps going. Filling her until there is no place inside her left to go. 

She feels a large hand glide over her belly, between her breasts — moving to cup her jaw as he strokes into her. “I _am_ weak,” he admits hoarsely. “Weak for this. For _you.”_ His eyes flutter as Rey cries out — feeling him hit some place deep inside that sends a rush of pleasure thrumming under her skin. “And I _am_ afraid —” His lips brush against hers as his tongue presses inside, _brutally,_ just like everything he does. Rey finds she doesn’t mind. When he breaks away, his hips have begun to piston harder, jolting her body with every thrust. “— afraid that someone will come. Come for you. Come for me —” His hand presses against her belly. “— come for _them —”_ Her chest grows tight at the possibility of life growing there.” — I’m _terrified.”_

His eyes screw shut as he grips her to him, pushing her knee until it’s level with her chest and slamming inside her as sweat beads at his temple and harsh sounds escape his throat. 

Rey wants to assure him, wants to take his fear and his pain and pull it into herself where it can’t touch him — but there is nothing but the thick stretch of his cock or his tongue that has begun to lick at her throat. She feels him wandering until again he begins to suck at the wound he created with his teeth — and she still has no knowledge of how it can bring such pleasure — but suddenly her ears hum with a dull buzzing and her body feels as if it houses some strange current and her _hands_ — her hands scramble for purchase as he moves in and out and in and _out_ and it’s too much — _entirely_ too much — and she — 

_“Kylo!”_

She quakes around him, biting her lips so hard she tastes blood as slick gushes around his still-moving cock. She cries out when she is suddenly empty, but then Kylo flips her with strength that still surprises her and in one motion she is full again. He doesn’t hold back now — pulling her leg back to drape over his own as he ruts into her with everything he has. 

His ragged breath washes against her skin, his groans growing in volume until it is nearly a shout in her ears and broken words of _mine_ and _yes_ mingle with his sounds and all she can do is hold on. All she can do is take what he gives her. 

When he finds that same place that floods her with pleasure — sucking at it roughly — she loses herself all over again. Her head falls back and her thighs shake and the way she _clenches_ — Kylo loses himself too. 

He pulls her so close against him that breathing is almost difficult, his thick arm around her to cage her in. She feels the impossible stretch inside, and it’s tight, _too tight —_ so tight she fears she will _break,_ but then it just keeps _going_ — locking them together as he curls around her body in a predatory gesture. 

Reminding her who she belongs to.

He is quiet now, his breath the only sound to be heard as he struggles to catch it. His fingers trace a mindless pattern over her skin — tickling her ribs and her sternum and settling just under her navel to press.

“You could be full. Right now. It is likely.”

She swallows thickly. “Is that something that you…?”

“It wasn’t.”

“And now?”

“Now, I am afraid,” he whispers. “We cannot bear a Beta, and this world is not kind to any other possibility. I don’t want to end up like — like my —”

He squeezes her a little tighter. 

“I trust you,” she soothes, sensing he needs to hear it. “You’ll protect me. Protect _us_ when the time comes.”

His voice is pained now. “Even I cannot protect you from the entire world.”

She lets her fingers brush along the surface of his arm — counting the scattering of scars and marks as she considers his words. She pulls at his hand, bringing the pads of his fingers to her lips and pressing a soft kiss there. “Then change it.”

He lets out a huffed laughed that drips with self-deprecation. “I don’t think that’s within my power. Not for someone like me.”

“I think it is,” she says with more conviction. “I think you’re more than the monster. I’ve seen it.”

She feels his cheek press against her hair, his steady breathing ruffling there as he mulls over her words. 

“I think you have too much faith in me. You hardly know me outside of this. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“And I don’t need to,” she tells him vehemently. “You can’t change your past — it’s already written, but your future is yours. To mold however you like. You only have to choose.”

He goes quiet, for so many moments it makes her wary — but she can _feel_ the trickle of something that seeps out of him. Can scent it in him. Something that fills hers with _hope._

His voice is impossibly quiet when he speaks again. “You have… quite a lot of faith in me.”

It’s odd, and new, and perhaps it _is_ misguided, but it doesn’t change the fact that — “Yes. Yes I do.”

He doesn’t speak again, content to hold her in silence, but for the first moment since he claimed her — his fear is not a stifling presence. 

It’s hardly even there. 

When Rey drifts off to sleep, long after the soft sounds of Kylo’s own rest tickle her skin — she is pleased to know that even now, even after the fever has faded… she is still unafraid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only an epilogue left. ❤️
> 
> I can literally say, he’s so weak for her. 😌
> 
> The angel of my heart [skerft](https://twitter.com/skerft1) drew an amazing sketch for this! See this beautiful fridge of a Barbarian [here](https://twitter.com/skerft1/status/1149476705465032704?s=21). 😍


	8. the bottom of the deep blue sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is soft. Like, SO soft, but — they deserve it guys. They really do. I want to give them everything. ❤️😭

Sometimes he misses it.

The blazing sun on his skin, the cries for mercy, the slick of _blood —_ it’s still there. The memories. Deep inside him, never _quite_ able to let his past die. 

He’s learned that it’s a part of him. It always will be.

For most of his life, Kylo has only known destruction — so it is difficult. To build something instead. To try and bring about _change._

Even now _—_ he still isn’t sure if he is doing anything right. 

But there are reasons now.

Reasons that give him the drive to _try._

“Papa, what’s this?”

He shakes away his musings to shift his gaze to the little girl tugging at his hand. “Hm?”

She points to the large expanse of parchment stretched out across the table. “This. What is this?”

“Ah.” He pulls her into his arms, giving her a better view. “It’s a map, Mira.” 

“To what?”

He grins. Always the inquisitive one, his daughter. “The entire southern kingdom.”

Her little eyes that look so like her mother’s go wide with wonder. “It’s so _big.”_

“Yes.” He pats her dark curls that match his own softly. “And only getting bigger.”

“Do you have to leave again soon?”

He frowns at the sadness in her voice. “I don’t want to, but yes — for a little while.”

Her tiny lip protrudes as she sniffles. “I don’t like it when you go away.”

“Nor do I, sweet girl, but it is necessary.”

The door to his study clamors open then, and two large terrors of chestnut hair rush into the room mid-argument. 

“ — it is _my_ turn to ride!”

“No, Father promised I could take Starkiller during the next hunt. You can ride Artoo.”

“Artoo is _tiny_ compared to Starkiller, and you know it!”

“ _Boys.”_

The twins turn to their frowning father with matching looks of contrition. They’re too big to be only eight, nearly coming up to his chest already, both looking identical to their mother in every way — save for their dark eyes which mirror his. 

Kylo sighs, having grown used to their endless bickering by now. “What is the problem?”

“Poe is taking us hunting,” Valen informs him.

Elric makes a disgruntled sound. “And it is _my_ turn to take Starkiller.”

“It is _not,”_ Valen argues.

Kylo sighs. He isn’t sure why he misses battle when there is always a _fight_ within the comfort of his own walls. 

He shakes his head before pressing a kiss to Mira’s hair, lifting her from his lap to set her on the floor before standing. 

“Actually, _I_ will be taking Starkiller, so that will make this easier on the both of you.”

Their identical faces fall simultaneously, both echoing a resounding: “You’re leaving?”

Kylo nods. “For a short while.”

“But you just got _back,”_ Elric whines.

Kylo pats his head. “None of that. My sons are strong.”

They cease their sniffling, but the crestfallen look on their faces remains. Kylo crouches to bring himself closer to them. “I will be back before you know it.”

“Do you mean that?”

He lands a playful fist lightly against Valen’s shoulder. “Of course I will. We have lessons to continue.”

“ _I’ve_ been practicing,” Elric boasts proudly. “I can hit the target with my bow from fifty feet.”

“The _edge_ of the target,” Valen mutters, earning a swift punch from his twin.

“Are we bothering your father?”

Kylo glances up at the door frame and smiles.

It’s something that once didn't come easy to him, this simple curling of his lips, but he finds now that there is no other expression that accurately portrays how she makes him feel. How much she has _given_ him.

She gave him a life he never thought possible. 

Never even thought he wanted.

He straightens, going to her side to pull her close. There are sounds of distaste from his children when he pulls her to him, covering her mouth with his for far longer than is appropriate. He presses his nose to her throat, breathing in the calming scent of citrus that now smells of spice. Smells of _him._

It has for many years now.

“Have they been terrorizing you?”

Rey shakes her head, laughing softly. “No more so than usual.”

“ _I’ve_ been good, Papa.”

He catches Mira’s toothy grin before she makes a smug face at her older brothers. She’ll be a handful someday. 

 _Much like her mother,_ he thinks amusedly.

He notices the forlorn expression of his mate then. “How long will you be gone?”

“Not long.” He presses his lips to her temple. “A week. At most.”

“Have you found another?”

Kylo nods, lowering his voice. “Another brothel has been reported to be operating illegally near the ports.”

“Tell me you won’t put yourself in danger.”

“Me?” Kylo points to himself with an innocent expression. “Would I do such a thing?” Rey narrows her eyes, and he laughs as he tugs her closer. “It won’t come to a fight — not one that I’m worried about anyway.”

“Perhaps one day you won’t need to fight at all.”

“I hope so, little one.” He presses his forehead to hers. “But until then, I must keep going.” He glances over at their children who have begun to bicker amongst themselves. “I want the world they grow into to be different than the one we knew.”

“I know.” Rey kisses his cheek. “I’m very proud of you.”

It’s not something he thought he ever wanted, her approval, her _love —_ but it’s everything now. His entire world gravitates around it.

“I just hope you hurry back,” she goes on. “You’re needed here.”

“I will be back before it’s time. I _promise_ you.” He places a palm over her rounded belly, grinning down at it as she covers his hand with hers. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“This one’s very active,” she remarks offhandedly. “Perhaps it’s another boy.”

It is then that Mira kicks one of her older brothers in the shin, and Kylo huffs out a laugh. “I wouldn’t yet place your bets there.”

“Just hurry back,” she urges softly, that quiet anxiety that burdens her with his absence palpable. “Please.”

“I _will.”_ He gives her another lingering kiss, cradling her hair and closing his eyes before he pulls away. “There’s no place I’d rather be, Rey. I assure you.”

He’s spent almost his entire life within these stone walls. Sad, lonely years within its confines spent in the dark. Without meaning or purpose, knowing only pain.

It’s her that made it better. It’s her that made it _home_.

And he means it, he really does.

There’s no place he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I took the kiddos names from the Conan novels instead of using Star Wars names — just felt right! 😍
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Tbh, I SINCERELY thought this would be self indulgent because I just... needed to put to paper this gritty Kylo who talks tough but is hella soft for his little slave Rey for my own needs. I’m SO happy so many of you followed along and enjoyed! You guys are just... the best. Seriously. 
> 
> Thank you! ❤️
> 
> Special thanks to Lightshinebright, for indulging this insane twist on her prompt and being an all around wonderful person. ❤️
> 
> [welcome to my cage, little lover playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1288719735/playlist/3YonKqMc5nOGh6CQWumtzn?si=tpaVE9t-SGWcuxZg9Hkcjg)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kylotrashforever)!  
> I made a [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/KTF_Reylo), come follow me!


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